


Ink

by felldownthelist



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Canonical Child Abuse, Depression, Everybody tries, Family Dynamics, Gen, Mental Health Issues, Tee-Total Diego, Unreliable Narrator, diego is not fine, everybody tries so hard, he's trying though, plot very much in the background, therapy is good for you
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-22
Updated: 2019-07-06
Packaged: 2020-05-16 14:43:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 32,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19320274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/felldownthelist/pseuds/felldownthelist
Summary: Diego goes back to avoiding everybody, because – wow. They’re obviously much better off apart.It doesn’t work out the way Diego plans.ALTERNATIVELY: This series gave me feelings and I'm having them out. Sorry.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> What to do when you can’t write and have no plot. OH. Sorry. What do you mean the notes aren't meant to be about my self esteem!? But seriously. I'm not a writer. And this has never been read by anybody else because I have no friends. All critique lovingly received. I'll just be amazed if anybody gets through the first chapter.

 

It starts as awkwardly as everything ever does with them.

One minute, Vanya is blowing up the moon – oh, fuck, that went wrong then – and the next, the eldest of his dear brothers, the misleadingly little Number Five, is doing something flashy and when he looks down at where he’s landed on the ground in the suddenly very not ruined theater, he appears to be a teenager again.

Before Diego can completely freak the fuck out, it’s happening a second time, except this time, thank fuck, thank fuck, he’s his thirty year old self again, wearing his thirty year old self's clothes, and it’s all going to be okay because he doesn’t have to do what Five had suggested for two seconds there and live through it all again.

When they calm down a little, they realize that Ben, who appeared corporeal and teen-aged next to Klaus the first time around, has aged with them and is now a grown man – and wearing something Diego has definitely never seen him in.

“Jesus,” Diego breathes.

It’s Klaus who looks back. “What?” He says. “Did I grow up with that bowl cut or something?” He grabs at his head, bizarrely concerned.

“Ben?”

It’s Luther who says it, but Diego feels his feet move at the same time, and Ben the adult man is staring at him from underneath a hood with something like shock as Diego strides past Klaus, into Ben’s eye line, and holy shit, it’s him, unmistakably, and Diego’s arms twitch as he realizes he wants nothing more than to reach out and hug the shit out of his brother – and then, awfully, that he is so woefully out of practice at physical contact that he can’t bring himself to move.

Ben stares around at them all, an unnameable expression growing on his face.

“Holy fuck, you can see him?” Klaus suddenly twigs, hands flying to his hair. “Ben! Buddy!” He holds both hands out in a celebratory pose. “Five?” Klaus asks, “did you- oh, shit,” he abridges abruptly running forward, and Diego turns to see his oldest brother swaying forward, blood running from his nose.

Klaus reaches Five before he falls, and so does Allison – Diego just stands there, useless, Luther holding a still unconscious Vanya, Ben behind him having not yet said a word.

There’s a minute of fussing, Five reassuringly caustic about having been propped up where he landed. Diego remembers finding out that he had been shot, though, and the feeling fades back into uneasiness.

The theater didn’t change back with them, the roof is whole, but then somebody opens a door near the back seats, and Diego hears the conversation with Luther like he’s underwater. It’s the afternoon, the concert is tonight.

It’s the afternoon.

Fuck.

He wonders if Leonard – Harold – is dead yet, and wonders why that’s his first thought when, fuck, _Mom is_ _alive_.

Vanya is still unconscious.

As they make to leave, Diego turns back to Ben, who, to be honest, he grieved for harder than he ever told anybody; who he thought of when he left the academy as soon as he was legally able, who he wanted to call if he was going to call anybody, and wondered if that was because Ben was a good person or because he was dead and Diego just had issues that he never wants to deal with.

“Ben-” he starts, and is wholly interrupted by Ben’s fist connecting with his face, hard.

He’s in shock, he thinks for a second, as though watching himself from outside of his body. His hard crafted reflexes fail him and he stops dead, unable to move, just staring with a sting in his jaw.

Diego can’t speak, manages to shakily touch his own face. Ben looks pale, Ben looks awful actually, and Klaus turns to say something to him before he looks suddenly, utterly hunted, and turns to escape in an insulting hurry through the nearest exit.

“… Ben?” Klaus echoes, confusion in his voice.

The theater employee wants them to leave. Vanya looks strange and suspicious. Allison still isn’t speaking, because she can’t – because – what even are the laws of what Five was doing?! Her throat is healed looking from a distance but there’s no mistaking the scar.

And Five is still little Five, in his academy uniform, blood over his nose, mouth and chin, and Diego makes an executive decision, sends Klaus after Ben, picks Five up, thanks the attendant for his time and explains that they’re leaving right now.

 

That was a few months and a birthday ago.

 

Diego goes back to avoiding everybody, because – wow. They’re obviously much better off apart.

 

 

_Three months and an awkward request later._

 

 

It doesn’t work out the way Diego plans.

They mostly leave him out of having to solve the ‘Leonard’ issue. But once that’s taken care of, Vanya’s… everything, really, has the siblings on a strange kind of check-in system with her as well as each other, by some kind of mutual decision that Diego doesn’t actually really remember being a part of.

There are scheduled times to visit each other and Five makes everybody exchange contact information so that they can all call each other when they need to. It doesn’t work so well for Diego, who doesn’t have a phone. He is unsurprised when it also doesn’t work so well for Klaus, who gives the Academy as his fixed address, and Ben, who is not turning up to family events right now apparently.

They never interact in a group of less than four at a time – when Diego is involved, at least – and he figures that might just be him never left alone with anybody that could possibly cause contention. See Luther. Vanya.

Fuck.

He tried to leave, for fucks sakes. He really tried. It had been years, last time, since he’d spoken to most of them. More than a decade.

Then again, his thinking back then was that Vanya should be shut out for her own good, Luther was going to lead the known universe to justice with Allison by his side, Klaus was a junkie, Five was gone… and Ben was dead.

Or, more honestly; Vanya needed to be pushed out more than Diego, so she could at least be forced into a normal life, Luther was always going to be Number One and, Diego had always thought, would do fucking insane things, Allison would follow whenever she wasn’t being in fucking _movies_ , Klaus could be dead any day so actually he needed to avoid thinking about Klaus, Five, same, Six… yeah.

Diego tried to leave, tried to have a normal life. At thirty one, he realizes he isn’t normal, actually, fuck. There’s no ‘normal life’ besides, thanks police and vigilante work for that revelation. It’s all shades of fucked up, and he’s still learning the words for what he thinks happened to them.

 

Vanya calls on a weekday, when he’s coaching the ring. He picks up on accident, realizes it’s her when he gets to his second response. He catches the handset, his free hand picking at the wraps on his left wrist.

“Hello?”

“Hi, I’m looking for Diego Hargreeves?”

“Yeah.”

“Diego?”

“Uh. Yeah.”

“It’s-”

“Hi Vanya.”

“- Vanya, shit, um. No. Hi. Can you come to the Academy Friday?”

“What’s happening?”

“No, sorry, nothing’s happening. I just wanted to... talk.”

“Did something happen?”

“… No.”

“...”

“… Will you be there?”

“See you Friday,” Diego confirms, a little thrown and more than a little dreading it.

 

When Diego hangs up, he realizes he’s ripped one of his wraps clean off his wrist.

Also he sort of forgot to get a time.

 

Friday, midday, because, well, why not, Diego lets himself into the Academy, glances into a couple of rooms and doesn’t see anybody. He scratches the side of his face, irritated at nothing in particular. His moods have been worse since Vanya didn’t end the world, swinging at an unreasonable tempo. The degradation correlates pretty directly with the amount of time he’s spending surrounded by family.

Flipping a military grade Smith and Wesson idly between digits helps a little, knowing there’s something sharp in his grip. Choosing a spot to wait, he leans back on the couch in the hilariously named ‘family room’. The position gives him a good view of the old man’s bar. Diego wants to smash it, all the old wood, the bottles of poison. Every memento.

He’s not sure how long he sits, thinking dark thoughts, before light footsteps at the door signify impending company.

Vanya picks her way across the room, and carefully sits on the adjacent chair. Feet together, knees together. Hands folded. Leaning forward, towards him. Diego can’t look at her for a minute. Diego can’t remember the last time he was able to look her directly in the eyes.

“Thanks,” she says. “For coming. I know I’m not exactly your favorite person, so I appreciate that you came.”

Despite her demeanor, he knows that she isn’t at all afraid. He surprises himself by appreciating that; given his own demeanor – the scowl, the blade he’s casually twisting – it’s not something he can take for granted. To give himself a moment to consider how to respond to that, Diego holsters the knife, back home with the five matching ones on the inside of his sleeve.

“Well,” he ends up saying, “you asked. So. Here I am.”

Vanya regards him for a moment, and then just comes out with, “I wanted to ask. Alone, so. If you… I just. Have to know.” He feels her gaze almost like a physical weight, then. “Did you know about me?”

“What about you,” Diego asks, stupidly, of course he’s got a reasonable idea what she’s asking.

“Did you know about the medication? That Dad lied to me?” It’s impressive that she can say it, he thinks, in the back of his mind. He wouldn’t be able to.

“No, Vanya,” he tells her. “For fucks sakes. None of us knew.” He scrubs a hand over his face. “Pretty sure none of us could keep a secret like that, anyway.”

“Mom knew.”

Fine. Shit.

“… Okay.”

“Allison knew. She didn’t think she did, but she knew.”

A cold feeling prickles at the base of Diego’s neck. He waits for a second. “What did Allison do?” He asks, even though, again, he can guess.

“What do you think?” Vanya counters. “Dad made her tell me I thought I was… ordinary.” Her gaze falls to the bookshelf behind him. He chances a glance at her face while her eyes are away from his.

She doesn’t look angry. He doesn’t understand her at all. He wouldn’t be able to stop being angry.

Diego thinks about her book, again. He wonders when he’s going to stop finding out awful shit about his family.

He thinks about what she asked.

“I didn’t know,” he says, finally.

Vanya nods. “Okay.”

They sit not looking at each other. Diego’s mind now trying to dredge up childhood memories he’d rather it not, as if looking for clues, things he might have missed. Vanya having fucking super powers.

“Was that it? That all you wanted to ask?” He thinks about leaving the house, getting back to the gym. Beating the shit out of a few bags for a while.

“Wait,” Vanya says. “Wait, no. Look.” She looks at the floor. “Look. I know we haven’t. Talked. In years. I’m sorry. I really am.”

That’s big of her, considering it’s basically entirely his fault.

“Don’t take it personally.”

It’s meant to be a balm.

“It kind of feels personal.”

Diego shakes his head. “It’s family. Fucked up shit, that’s this family.”

“Does it have to be?”

A short sharp bark escapes him, and he thinks it was kind of meant to be a laugh. Vanya is looking at him intently now. “You think you can un-fuck this mess?” He asks her, even though – fuck, that’s exactly what they’ve all decided to try and do. He’s rapidly losing the will to have this conversation, though. “Come on, Vanya. Where would you even start?”

“With you, I would say that I’m sorry about the book.”

“Oh and that undoes it?” Ouch, so that’s apparently still a very sore spot for her to poke out of the blue like that, good to know… oh wait. It was him. Shit. “Because you still did it.”

“And I’m trying to apologize, you don’t have to spit it back in my face.”

“You spat in ours when you wrote that thing.”

“I don’t understand why you’re so angry,” Vanya exclaims, finally getting riled. “You won’t even look at me, Diego. Don’t think I haven’t noticed that you won’t even look me in the eye. It was about me, validating my life spent wishing that I was one of you, I was twenty six and my therapist made it seem like a good idea at the time. Are you really this mad over a book?”

Diego has to stand. He rubs the same hand over his eyes, paces in front of the couch.

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” he says, “but fuck you.”

Vanya stares at him, expression livid. “Have you even read it?” She asks, suddenly.

Diego makes for the door. “No,” he tells her.

“Neither did Dad,” she calls after him, voice wavering for the first time, and then he’s leaving the house, and feeling like a complete piece of shit.

 

He makes it ten paces out the door before he pauses, breathes deep through his nose and thinks about the magnitude of what they’ve been through the past six months.

 

He marches back into the Academy, down the hallway, straight back to the family room where Vanya is still where he left her on the chair, sleeves covering the hands that are plastered to the front of her face.

“Shut up,” Diego warns. “Don’t say anything. Let me do this.” He paces, clenches his fists. “You were reading to people at that bookstore downtown. I didn’t know you were there, and then you were just reading it, out loud, to a bunch of strangers and it was too much. And no I didn’t read your book after that, because I’m fucking scared to death of what the hell you put in that thing, because I don’t know about you but I spent the last decade trying to recover from that stupid Umbrella shit. Call me an asshole all you want but _you_ betrayed _us_.”

He’s glad that this is now the second time he’s had to put this into words, because if it were the first he’d probably be less able to keep speaking. All the same, it’s hard.

“I know I’m a shitty brother. But we’re all always shit to each other, even though we’re all we have. And you still betrayed...”

He hears himself repeating the line and decides to stop talking. Finds his hand over his mouth. Vanya hasn’t moved beyond wiping her eyes and looking back at the floor. Diego paces behind the couch, an object between them.

“Can I talk now?” Vanya asks. Diego feels slightly ill, unsure of what he’s doing, what he’s saying. Some days, it feels like anything he does is going to be the wrong thing.

“Fine,” he waves his hand in her direction.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know I could hurt your feelings. Mostly because you’ve always been an asshole to me. But it was never what I meant to do, I just wanted. Something for myself. So. I’m a shitty sister.”

She comes around the couch, stands in front of him, tiny little Vanya, realizing again that she’d had powers all along where she thought she hadn’t. Diego breathes out, heavy. He doesn’t think, finds himself reaching out. He takes his sisters’ left wrist in his hand and pushes her sleeve up with his thumb until the pad rests over the bare skin.

“Be glad,” he tells her, looking at her arm pointedly.

Vanya takes his own left wrist with her other hand, pushes the sleeve back. She touches his tattoo with her first two fingers. “You’re forever a part of something,” she tells him. “That I’m not.”

“It’s not a good thing,” he counters, pulling her sleeve back down, covering the lack of any mark there at all.

“You’re not a shitty brother.”

“I thought I was keeping you away from something shit. So I am.”

“No you’re not.”

Diego changes the subject to the first one he can think of. “You have an apartment, right?”

“Yeah.” Vanya, surprising him, then, gives an approximate address.

Fine. He can take a dare. “If I bring coffee do I get to visit it, instead of coming here?”

“Yes,” says Vanya. “Please.”

“Could the conversation be less tense?”

“That would be nice.”

Diego thinks that on TV or something, they would hug now. In real life he feels too raw and ugly to get close to Vanya, and looking at the way her eyes flit to the ground as she takes a step back, she feels the same.

“Okay,” he says. “No more shitty conversations in this shitty house. We can... try again in a couple of days?”

“Okay. Okay.”

“I’m gonna leave.”

“Alright.”

“I think it would be a good idea. I care about you and I want you to be happy and healthy and okay, but I’m not and I need a minute.”

Vanya looks surprised at the admission, but she nods.

“Okay. Okay that’s fine.”

“You’re my sister,” he needs to tell her, for some reason.

Vanya hugs herself, smiles despite looking kind of sad. Like always. “I’m just… trying to make this alright.”

“Alright.”

He isn’t even in the mood to seek out Mom at this point. All in all, though, it isn’t a complete waste of an hour’s drive across town. Diego doesn’t feel great, exactly, but he feels less awful than he would have if he’d left mid way through that argument, he knows that much.

He drives, considers stopping a few times, maybe going for a run, maybe screaming at something.

He ends up back at the gym, inevitably, beats a couple of bags until he’s tired, takes a shower and goes to sleep.

 

It’s not a couple of days after that he gets another phone call. Al yells him over from the mats.

“Still ain’t your secretary,” he makes sure to get across before Diego receives the handset.

“Yeah?” He greets, unwrapping a knot on one hand with blunted nails.

“Diego?” It’s scratchy, but still recognizable.

“Allison?”

“Yeah. Hi. You wanna get a drink?”

That throws him completely. If not for her tone, which is muted even without the rasp, he would assume she was kidding. Or possessed.

“Um,” he says, politely.

“Meet me at Bellucci’s, round the corner from the laundromat? Seven?”

“Okay?” He manages to get out.

“Great. See you there.” Then he hears a click, and he’s been hung up on.

Diego stares at the handset for a minute more.

“Huh?” He queries nobody.

 

He gets to the bar fifteen early and watches the entrance from across the road. At seven on the dot Allison’s silhouette crosses ahead of a street light. She pauses, looks around. Doesn’t quite spot him, which makes him smirk to himself. Then she wanders in.

Diego counts to ten and follows. She’s leaning against the bar.

“... mojito,” she’s ordering. “And. Lo-soda and lime?” She asks, turning her head to him.

A little surprised, not wanting it to show, Diego nods in thanks. When they get their drinks, they move to a table near the back. Diego sits against the wall out of habit, noticing Allison has done the same on the other side; near enough the only table in the place with two seats that could sit like that and look natural and the best sight lines to the door. He’s not really impressed, but he appreciates the effort, even if it’s not for his benefit.

Allison fiddles with the decorative scarf covering her neck, seems to check that it’s in place.

“So,” she says. “How have you been?”

Diego leans back and folds his arms lightly.

“Fine,” he says. “You?”

“Been better,” she says. “It’s been a rough few months.” She stabs at the ice in her drink with the cardboard straw. “I’m not really supposed to be drinking,” she says, confidentially, taking a sip.

It’s just then that Diego realizes that she’s play acting. Looking at him like they’re sharing a secret. Asking how he is like she really cares. Pretending like they haven’t never ever done this, share some time over a drink, the two of them.

He decides that he’s going to play along, if only to find out exactly what she’s trying to get out of him.

“I’m not stupid,” he ends up saying, instead, which actually wasn’t the plan – but he’s always been better off if he just spits it out.

Allison doesn’t respond for a minute.

“I saw you hiding across the street,” she says, then. “So we’re back to you not trusting me, really?”

It stings unexpectedly. “I trust you,” Diego tells her, taking a big sip of his drink and hoping that she doesn’t miss the significance of that. “I’m sitting here, aren’t I.”

“Fuck,” Allison says. She looks upset.

“Voice sounds better,” Diego observes.

“Yeah,” she responds, after a minute. “So. Uh.” She sits up a little taller. “What’s up with you?” She asks, as though the last two minutes didn’t happen. “What’s new, what’s going on?”

“Well yesterday I went grocery shopping,” Diego says, as though it’s interesting. “And this morning I did a bunch of laundry.”

“That’s pretty adult.”

“I am thirty one.”

“Hey, me too. Cheers to that,” Allison pokes her glass at him. Diego clinks it.

 

The evening continues, exactly like that, until last orders are called. It’s a Tuesday night, after all. Diego honestly can’t figure out what’s going on.

“Look, so,” Allison says. “I guess we’d better head. It was good talking with you,” she tells him. “We should do it more.”

“Sure,” he agrees. “Take care Allison,” he tells her as she walks back to her car.

“You too,” she says, with a small smile.

Yeah. He has no clue.

 

Coffee at Vanyas goes better than any conversation at their old house. Diego likes the building, likes the apartment more. It feels like a home, like someone who is an adult and has a job lives there.

Vanya seems pleased to see him, if vaguely anxious.

“Sorry about the mess,” she says, when he walks in.

“Are you kidding,” he tells her about his own digs. Vanya smiles. “I bet it’s immaculate,” she says, almost like she’s teasing him. “You never liked having much stuff around.”

A touch of obsessive compulsiveness, Diego knows now; his brain trying to keep a bit of control of his own environment. He doesn’t say anything. Vanya is busy checking the fridge.

“Do you want something to eat?” She asks. “I have uh.”

Diego snorts. “Nah I’m good,” he tells her. He sits on the couch, takes in the music stand and sheet music by the window. “You teach, right?” He asks.

“Yeah,” Vanya says. “Mostly little kids, a couple of teenagers who are better than I am.”

“You’re pretty good though,” Diego says.

Vanya blinks. “Yeah,” she says. “Yeah. I guess I am.” She smiles. It’s a strange look on her, Diego thinks for a moment. Good, though.

“I don’t want to bring up anything...”

“Contentious?” Diego tries.

“Five dollar word,” Vanya teases.

“More where that came from,” Diego says. “Not gonna write any books any time soon though.”

“Maybe you should,” Vanya says. “Don’t expect it to pay the bills though. Still gonna have to teach the violin.”

Diego snorts at the image. “Not sure I’d make a great teacher,” he muses.

“You always taught hand to hand well,” Vanya surprises him. “When we were kids. I thought you explained it better than the instructors sometimes.” Then, after a minute of silence, “you really don’t like talking about our childhood, do you?”

“What, being kids in that monsters’ deranged idea of an Academy?” Diego poses. “No, not really.”

“Look I’m – sorry if this isn’t my place, but… have you ever thought about talking to anyone?”

Diego thinks back to mandatory psych evaluations at the police academy. Remembers learning how to pretend to be well adjusted enough to pass once he found out the requirements.

“Who’s gonna understand, Vanya?” He challenges, as non-confrontational as he can manage. “Who the hell is going to want to listen to that?”

“You’d be surprised,” she returns, in kind. “I see someone. Different, now that I’m off the medication. Someone Dad never, um. Paid. I don’t need more pills. She’s just... helping me work through some stuff.”

“I respect that, Vanya, I do,” Diego tells her sincerely. “I just don’t know that there’s anyone out there that…” he pauses. Thinks. “I’m pretty much the way I am at this point for a reason, and I know about it.”

“Just think about it?” She pleads. “I gave the number to Five, too. And she knows about the academy and my powers.”

Diego tries not to grimace at the information the therapist is going to have on all of them, then. God dammit. He can’t start another fight, not when she’s trying to help.

“I’ll think about it,” he tells her, instead, knowing that he won’t call.

 

Less than a week later, the day before he’s scheduled to meet with Vanya and Allison for lunch; the next manufactured ‘family gathering’; he very nearly loses his shitty boiler room apartment by punching an asshole who’s brought his kid to the gym to learn to box. He doesn’t hit the guy, even though he should.

After an impassioned lecture to the idiot about how not to instruct children with violence, he finds himself outlining a pretty solid six week plan to introduce a seven year old to fighting in a constructive way, as a sport and option to vent some frustration than any desire to rip another guys arm off or whatever.

The parent knows who Diego is, it turns out, and once he’s calmed down enough to take instruction rather than being butthurt at having his own shitty introductory methods called out, is keen to take him up on the offer.

Al gets involved, and that’s how Diego ends up volunteering to teach self defense for the under 10s three nights a week at Al’s gym.

And that’s why, when Al comments, a little later, “got a hell of a temper on you lately son, you seeing anybody about that?” Diego rolls his eyes and says, “whatever, yeah,” and calls the number that Vanya gave him.

 

It turns out that Luther comes to lunch with the girls. Diego notices that Vanya sits adjacent to Allison and opposite himself; basically as far away from their brother as possible, but the conversation is quiet, relaxed and low key, so he figures they spend time together without him, solved the ‘Leonard’ problem without him; he isn’t going to try to understand their relationship right now. In fact it’s all utterly sedate, conversation practically ordinary, until the server mistakes them for a double date; at which point Diego and Vanya both choke and then dissolve into laughter. Diego looks as surprised as Vanya does; Allison and Luther have both raised their eyebrows at them like they’re being childish.

Diego realizes that Allison and Luther are kind of leaning into each other a bit. Have shared a milkshake.

Nobody corrects the server, even though it means Diego and Luther foot the bill for some reason.

 

Allison and Vanya decide to go shopping. Diego desperately wants to decline, but his alternative is to move to the nearest bar with his brother.

What the hell. They are supposed to be moving forward, he figures.

“Please just don’t let me get drunk,” Luther floors him by groaning. “I am so bad at this.”

“At drinking alcohol?” Diego attempts to confirm, recalling the last few times he’s seen Luther around booze. He’s never struck Diego as a drunk.

“I know, I know; it looks like I can drink a lot. But it goes wrong.”

“Wrong.”

“Things seem like a good idea when they are not a good idea.”

“So… don’t drink,” Diego says, confused.

“No,” Luther counters. “I’m pretty sure this conversation will go better if I do.”

“What conversation?” Diego feels suddenly wary.

“Just.” Luther holds up a finger, the universal sign for ‘wait’. He goes to the bar. Diego hears him order a soda and lime for him, immediately knows he’s been discussing whatever’s about to go down with Allison.

When he gets back to the table, Luther has three drinks. He immediately downs the first in a display that makes Diego reconsider Luther’s comments.

“Okay,” he allows, eyebrow raised, trying not to make any comments about Klaus, family resemblance, etc.

“Right,” Luther begins. He doesn’t look overly comfortable. “I’m not very good at this.”

“No shit,” Diego enjoys how uncomfortable his brother looks, which is awful but – well, fuck it. He does.

“Shut it,” Luther says. “I’m being serious.”

“Alright,” Diego allows. “You’re not very good at this.” He takes a sip of soda and lime, feeling far superior.

“I think you should come back to the Academy,” Luther blurts out.

“For… what?” Diego frowns. Not what he was expecting.

Luther clears his throat. “I think that it would be better. If we. Stayed in the house. Together. For a while, at least.”

“You’ve definitely been drinking,” Diego observes, and, just to be funny, toasts him with his soda and lime.

“I’m serious,” Luther repeats.

“Why the hell would I want to subject myself to that?” Diego laughs. “Good timing though, I’m going to meet with Vanya’s therapist on Tuesday.”

Luther nods. “You too, huh?” He says, which – okay. “I know it hasn’t.” He pauses, takes a big draw from his second drink. Starts again. “We haven’t always had the best relationship,” he says. “And I feel like that’s my fault.” What. “I push people away.” What. “I’m really bad at… being part of a family.” What. “But I want that to change.”

“It has been,” Diego can’t help himself; if it’s not entirely to be contrary to his brother then he can think on it later. “What the hell has the last six months been about if not that, Luther? We’re in a bar, for Christsakes. We met for lunch. That’s so… cosmopolitan,” he settles on, even if he thinks of a few other choice words beforehand.

"Would you please just think about it?” His brother barrels on. “I think it would be for the best. For Vanya. She feels so alone sometimes. And I can’t shake the feeling that there’s something coming. Something Dad knew about.”

Here we go, Diego thinks, desperately trying not to roll his eyes. “Okay big guy,” he concedes, half making fun. “Something Dad knew about.”

“I have a feeling,” Luther insists. “I know you all think it’s… stupid, or, some kind of dumb... loyalty thing.”

“Yep, that’s exactly what I think.”

“I don’t want to fight with you.”

“I don’t want to fight with you, either.”

“Yes you do,” Luther accuses. “It’s all you ever do, try and make it a fight.”

“Well, maybe it’s all I know how to do,” Diego throws his arms in the air, frustrated. “Come on. Look at this shit show.”

“I never understood why you thought it was so bad,” Luther says, and he sounds genuinely sad.

“Not everybody had it as good as you, Number One,” Diego reminds him.

“Good?” Luther sounds confused. “Really?”

“Really,” Diego tells him, and takes a sip of his drink. “I don’t need alcohol to have a conversation with you, by the way. Just throwing that one out there.”

“Well, we’re not all as…” Luther trails off, looking a little miserable, and Diego unhappily notes his glee begin to fade at the genuine display of unhappiness.

“As what?” He prompts. “And yeah, man. You had it great in comparison to... A lot of things.” He trails off, eyes wide, wondering what the hell has gotten into him. Not lo-soda and lime, that’s for sure.

“You’re just,” Luther sounds frustrated, waves a hand in Diego’s vague direction. Diego leans back, affects offense. “You’re so. Self possessed. I guess.”

“What,” Diego says, trying to follow.

“Confident,” Luther continues, blithe. “And not like, I mean, Klaus. But a bit like Klaus, sometimes.”

“What,” Diego repeats, genuine confusion overshadowing anything else about the conversation.

“You don’t care what you look like,” Luther says, and then takes another huge gulp of drink number two. “You don’t have to,” he follows up. He wipes his mouth while Diego has no idea how to put into words what he’s thinking in any kind of constructive way. “Anyway. I really think we should try to be together, for a bit. Under the same roof. In a better way than before.”

God. Luther: complete ass. Ten seconds later, Luther: probably going to save the family. Diego figures that’s something of his younger self talking; always convinced that tall, strong, steady, confident Number One was the absolute shit… and naturally always wanting to be better than him, beat him, outshine him. His childhood benchmark.

Actually.

“You don’t see the fucking irony in you thinking I’m the guy with all the confidence?”

“What?” Now Luther has the gall to look confused. Diego thinks back to their fourteen-year-old selves, thanks whatever powers that exist that Five didn’t leave them in the past to repeat it all. Thinks back to his stutter, that got so bad he wanted Allison to Rumor it away even though Grace would never let him, told him he could do it himself. Thinks back to how Luther used to be; the tallest, the most handsome, clever enough and so strong and… everything he thought Reginald actually wanted them to be. Not the mismatched ragtag group they turned out.

Diego feels a prickling underneath his skin, all of a sudden. “Okay, you think Dad knew about some secret disaster coming up?” He ends up saying. “Fine. Family vote. Get everybody back in that house for it.” He looks at the remains of his drink. “Ben has to turn up,” he adds, “or it doesn’t count.”

To his surprise, Luther actually looks pleased. Also surprised. Okay, mostly surprised. “Okay,” he says, “when?”

“Nope,” Diego dismisses, “you have to organize it. You tell me.”

“Two days time?” Luther suggests. “I’ll have time to get hold of… Ben.”

“Right,” Diego says, remembering that Ben punched him at the theater, left, and hasn’t turned up to any family thing at all Diego’s attended since. “Good luck. I’ll be there.”

He suddenly can’t stand it; the memories, the subject, thinking about Ben.

“I have to go,” he affords Luther, standing. “Thanks for the drink. Lunch was good.”

“See you at home,” Luther calls, as he makes a retreat to the door, and Diego clamps down on the anxiety rearing it’s head, thinks, actually, please, fuck off.

 

Vanya’s therapist – okay, fine, Sheila, Diego guesses he can start calling her instead of ‘Vanya’s therapist’, whatever – chooses weird shit to get him to talk about. They’ve ended up on appearance and personal grooming.

“I’m just asking if you ever give yourself a day off,” she says, and when he frowns, she gestures vaguely around her own head and chin. “You’re very tidy. Fastidious.”

As the two hour session continues, Diego, used to thinking of himself as rough around the edges, thank you very much, realizes – it’s true. He can be dead on his feet, beat six ways from Sunday and having the week from hell but, he realizes slowly and somewhat worriedly, he will damn well shave and slick back his hair, because.

That’s. What. Dad. Did.

Fuck.

He doesn’t even know what he’d look like with scruff, let alone a beard. Hair out of place generally means he’s been in a fight of some kind, but early on in their public careers as superhero kids they knew enough tricks to keep their appearances top notch for the cameras, after whatever the fight ended up.

Hell, even Ben never had a hair out of place, and half the time he was covered in entrails.

It takes a bit of prevarication but once he’s made his mind up, he’s oddly determined.

Diego’s growing out his hair.

Take that, old man.

 

The next day, which frankly is all too soon, he’s back in the Hargreeves House of Horribleness again, and his mood is through the floor. They’re waiting on Allison, Vanya and Five. And… Ben. Luther is in the family room. Diego leaves to pace the kitchen.

He finds company there, in the shape of another brother draped over one edge of the kitchen table, staring at nothing.

It strikes him, not for the first time, that Klaus has looked so fucking _sad_ ; ever since that day Diego had followed him into the VA instead of leaving his drunken ass outside he’s been almost muted, quiet, nothing like he’d been even a day before that.

And the crazy masked guys, the dogtags, the mentions of a briefcase etcetera didn’t exactly go unnoticed, but… they have a huge gap in their history, Diego and Klaus, and the crossovers haven’t always been friendly, and he wants an excuse to ask and just hasn’t had one. Unless they’re in the midst of an outright crisis, they seem to be as out of practice at communicating with each other as any of their siblings, and. Well.

Diego is thrown kind of by exactly how much he has started to worry about him, in terms of literally _anything other than Klaus dying_. It’s been an emotional smoke shield for so long. Klaus getting clean was meant to be the end of the anxiety, or something, and, of course, Klaus has never been clean so how was Diego supposed to know. And Diego feels off kilter today, and a little fucked up, and usually he’s happy to play the big brother but Klaus is technically older now, or something, and. Diego. Just.

It feels important somehow that it’s not like Klaus has made any show of interest in Diego’s own life.

Fuck.

He wants to. “You okay man?” He tries, pacing to the sink and then back and forth, restless.

Klaus hums. “Utterly fantastic,” he responds without looking at him, sounding anything but. “Fucking excellent. Extremely joyful.” His eyes don’t track from the empty space by the stove. “I could go on.”

And okay then. Diego’s mood is further stung, both by the tone and the clear lack of any sort of confidence his brother has in him as a confidant.

“Fine, could you mope somewhere else?” He snaps.

“Hey,” Klaus says, eyes suddenly on him. Good. “Rude.”

Diego rubs a hand over his face. “Where’s Ben?”

“Not his keeper.”

“He’s meant to actually show up, today.”

It’s not without a little bitterness. Because Ben hasn’t spoken to Diego since punching him in the face and refusing to look any of them in the eye. It makes complete sense, Diego thinks, that he wouldn’t want to come back here, to this house. Diego wouldn’t – didn’t – want to.

“Still mad?” Klaus intones.

“Yeah, because I’m the one with the problem,” Diego snaps without meaning to, figuring Klaus will please get what he means.

Klaus eyes him levelly from his prone position; no mean feat. He continues, casually, “have you tried talking to him? I know that’s not the traditional Hargreeves methodology, but between you and our dearest undeparted Ben there might be some actual words to be had.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” It seems more important than asking how.

“That you’re both just full up with feelings,” Klaus fake shivers. “I’d say it couldn’t hurt, but then I’ve not overheard you and Luther chat in a while and I can’t say I miss it.”

“Luther and I chat fine,” Diego feels compelled to… lie? Is it a lie? He doesn’t know. He’s hurt. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Wow,” Klaus says. “A little defensive there. No matter.” He pulls himself upright.

It’s just that Klaus has, as well as being fucking sad as fuck, discovered his argumentative side. It gets under Diego’s skin in a way that this brother in particular never used to. It’s selfish to miss the easy going carefree facade when he knows that the hurt was always there, probably, it’s just on the surface now and he has to deal with it. He hates worrying about him so much. Sobriety was meant to make it better. It hasn’t really changed a thing.

“Just stop acting like Ben’s ever listened to anything I said, ever. Or that we’re anything like me and Luther.”

“Yes, you know Ben so very well these days.”

“How the hell was I supposed to, Klaus? I’m not the one who socked me and then disappeared!”

Klaus affects a surprised cough. “I’m sorry,” he says, “are we talking about people who run away from things now?”

“Seriously?” Diego returns, getting hot, “Don’t be a _hypocrite_ , Klaus,” he jabs his finger at his brother, feeling even more defensive than before.

“Oh, I’m the hypocrite?” That gets Klaus’ head off the table. “Me? I’m the hypocrite in this scenario that you’ve dreamed up in your little brain, me?”

“Yes you,” Diego barrels on, despite the sudden feeling that he’s skating on thin ice.

Klaus begins to push himself upright, leaning on his hands. “Well isn’t that very fucking hilarious,” he continues. “And just like you, Diego, just like you to conveniently forget about all the shit you ever did and blame Klaus, the stupid idiot probably won’t even bother to defend himself, well not this time, you complete prick!” He gets louder and louder, ends up yelling the last bit. Diego is unexpectedly incensed.

“Don’t yell at me, asshole!” He yells back.

“I’ll yell at you if I goddamn want to!” Klaus does. “Nobody in this house does any communicating of any kind! You should be thanking me for actually deigning to bother with it at all!”

“Oh that’s rich, coming from Mister Disappears-Completely-At-Twenty-One-”

“Why the fuck would I stay here, Diego? God knows you didn’t!”

“I’m not saying you had to stay _here_ you moron! Just pick up a damn phone once a fucking decade-”

“You didn’t even have a phone!”

“-instead of leaving me to find out where you were through your fucking arrest records-”

“Oh my _god_!” Klaus clears the table and gets right up in Diego’s space; Diego can smell cigarettes and feel air move when he shouts. “Is it not enough that we had no privacy our entire fucking childhood, you can’t even let me get _arrested_ without making sure you know exactly what the seedy sordid little details are?”

“Try precinct gossip for your fucking seedy sordid details, Klaus,” Diego rages, a memory he really doesn’t enjoy revisiting shoving it’s merry way to the forefront.

“Oh, oh, oh, I see,” Klaus’s eyes narrow. “Diego – and here we are back to you being a fucking hypocrite – ”

“That one doesn’t fly, Klaus, I’ve never whored myself out to get out of a bad situation.”

“Oh lovely, I’m a whore now?” Klaus spits.

“If the shoe fucking fits,” Diego bites back.

He knows as soon as he’s said it that it was not a good thing to say, and a sudden part of him wonders how the conversation went so bad so quick, but it’s too late. The yelling stops abruptly enough that the silence is ringing in his ears. Klaus’ face is complicated, and Diego can’t quickly parse the expressions. It’s hard to keep looking him in the eyes, although he continues.

“So what’s got you so worked up about that,” Klaus begins, not yelling, voice even. It’s not a good tone. “Did _you_ want a ride, Diego?” He pushes forwards suddenly, hands grabbing Diego’s hips in a vice like grip. “Were you jealous of all your cop friends’ stories-”

Jesus, the escalation factor here is insane. “Stop it,” Diego attempts a step backward, his brain suddenly feeling like it’s coming back online. Klaus follows his body. Diego pulls at the wrists by his hips. Klaus pinches the skin there, hard.

“-and wanted a little go around, see what all the fuss is about-”

Diego pulls a move he’s only managed a couple of times; he hits the pressure points on Klaus’ wrists so that the grip releases, pushes one shoulder as he moves the other leg to hip check his brother, spins him around effectively toward the sink and aims to clamp a hand over his mouth so that he just. Stops. Talking.

At the Police Academy his dirty moves were suspicious but effective. In the ring his dirty moves pay the bills. With his brother, his dirty moves aren’t dirty, they’re hard won trained-in reflexes. Klaus, as such, knows what’s coming and with an ease that comes only with muscle memory, kips forward in Diego’s grip enough that when he slams his heels back into Diego’s shins the pain would have dropped him if not for the hold on his brother’s torso.

An elbow to the gut follows up. Diego’s fists are instinctively aiming for his opponents temples before he remembers at the last second that this is _Klaus_ , and for that second of hesitation gets smashed full on in the balls. As he topples backward, which is easier than righting himself with a kick, he manages to kick a kitchen chair into the path between them, stalling his raging brother for a second.

“Quit it,” Diego yells, ignoring the pain as he comes to his fucking senses, because pain will pass, _Jesus Christ but soon hopefully_ , holding out one hand.

“Fuck you, you fucking asshole,” Klaus yells, picking up the chair and throwing it across the kitchen. It hits the wall with a sad thunk.

“I’m fucking- my mouth fucking ran off with me, I panicked, just quit it!”

“What a great excuse for saying whatever you want!”

“It’s not an excuse!”

“Fuck you! I’m not gonna run away from you, like, like Luther does whenever you’re a prick to him!”

“Good, I don’t want you to, I don’t want that!”

“You have some fucked up fucking issues Diego!”

“I know that!”

“You should see a therapist!”

“I am seeing a fucking therapist you dick!”

“Are you serious?”

“Fuck you, I was there yesterday!”

“Don’t tell me to fuck myself, you ass! _You_ just shat over my next six weeks of therapy with your fucking dickheadery!”

“How can… Don’t blame me for that, that’s bullshit! You said therapy is useless!”

“Well I had to do something, asshole, valium’s sort of no longer an option since I’m trying to be useful to you absolute cuntrags!”

“Good,” Diego yells. “I hope it actually fucking helps you, you bag of dicks.”

“It doesn’t!” Klaus yells back. “It. Fuck. It does a bit. Fuck. Why are we still shouting at each other?”

“I don’t know,” Five’s even voice sounds from the doorway, “but if either of you wants a second opinion on that I’m fairly sure half the street just heard your charming ‘conversation’.”

Both of them startle, leaping back half a step at the interruption.

“How long have you been there,” Diego snaps, concerned about his lack of observation. Five had to have been there enough time to… fuck.

"Long enough to know that you two are still and always will be idiots,” Five says. His tone is genial, for all that his arms are folded, lips pressed in a thin line. “Although the specifics are new,” he says, more shrewd than Diego likes.

“Fuck,” says Klaus, which gives Diego exactly nothing to work with.

“You seem upset,” Five intones, neutrally.

“No shit,” Klaus snaps.

“I’m an asshole,” Diego offers. “I’m sorry.”

He’s more than a little offended to see Klaus’ jaw more or less hit the floor, but whatever.

Five looks marginally mollified; his lips twitch, anyway.

“Well, everybody’s here now. Let’s go see what Luther thinks Dad was scheming before he offed himself.”

 

Normally after a spat with a sibling, Diego’s tactic is one of retreat. However that is not an option right now; Luther called them all to the academy, they all turned up.

The siblings are scattered around the room, on various pieces of furniture. Ben is in an armchair, and Allison is just staring at him. Klaus makes a beeline for the couch and plants himself next to Vanya, already scrunched up in a corner. He leaves a good space on his other side, and when Five goes to sit on the edge of a coffee table Diego figures he wants to chance it and gingerly lowers himself next to his brother.

Klaus surprises him by reaching for the fabric of his sleeve and just… holding it. They don’t look at each other.

"You all know why we’re here,” Luther says, and Diego experiences a vivid flashback to the afternoon of Dad’s funeral, Luther grilling them all for alibis for Dad’s perceived murder.

“Because you’re obsessed,” Diego announces, out of habit. Luther doesn’t even acknowledge the dig.

“Come on, Luther,” Allison reasons. “We’ve been over this.”

“It’s not an infeasible possibility,” Five interrupts, and Diego snaps his attention to him. “We have his notes, this time.”

Oh. Oh shit.

“Have you recruited Five?” Klaus asks, sounding alarmed.

 

They last approximately ten more minutes then, before the yelling starts.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Uhhhh I mean they're still trying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ANYBODY who made it through chapter one, THANK YOU. ANYBODY WHO COMMENTED <3<3<3<3<3
> 
> Erm, again I can't emphasize enough that I am not a writer ever but also that nobody else has ever read this because no friends, etc. Any tags, any typos, any stupidity, any suggestions, I'm all ears. Assuming anybody comes back for chapter two XD

The shouting begins because Allison is trying to be the voice of reason, raspy tones and all, and Five starts to talk over her, to which she does not take kindly.

After a couple of minutes of raised voices, Klaus tries, “hey, remember when this used to happen but I could get high to avoid the adverse mental health affects of family time?” and is wholly ignored.

It escalates further when Vanya chimes in asking for everybody to calm down, and Diego automatically tells her to shut up. Allison and Luther immediately start to lay in on him for talking shit to Vanya.

After a couple more minutes of yelling, Klaus tries, again, “I guess that was an ineffective coping mechanism though. My therapist says it probably affected me anyway and drugs were just masking the real problems.” Nobody pays him any attention.

Five presently begins to outline the ways in which they are all stupid and he’s not, but includes Luther, who is on the side Five has decided to take for God’s sakes, which prompts Vanya to snap at him, which prompts Five to retort that he’s not scared of her, which prompts Luther to inform Five that maybe he should be, which prompts Allison to deliver the news that Vanya is their sibling and they need to cut it out being scared of her, they’re all very scary, hint, please take it.

“I think I’m going to leave and take a really big shit,” Klaus announces loudly, standing up. “Because it turns out that’s like a twice a day thing now.”

Finally. A particular kind of silence descends over the seven of them. Diego sees Allison smirk into her hand. Luther blinks. Five bites his lip. Vanya smiles without looking over. Diego tugs on Klaus’ arm to get him to sit back down.

“Thanks,” Diego pats him, really meaning it. 

After a moment, Luther breaks the silence. “How are we so bad at this,” he says, sounding kind of in awe.

Five opens his mouth. Luther stares at him. Five almost doesn’t talk. And then,

“Don’t blame me. I was in the apocalypse for forty-five years. You were the ones who could have been practicing talking to each other civilly.”

“I didn’t get much of a chance either you know,” a sardonic voice says, and shit, that’s literally the first thing Diego has heard Ben say since… the theater.

Around the room faces turn grief stricken. Five and Vanya just look at their brother, something practiced and supportive in their combined gaze, and Diego thinks that that is where Ben’s been, that’s who he’s spoken to at least.

“Well it’s good to see you again,” Vanya says, decidedly. “And hear you.”

Allison is wiping her eyes discreetly and nobody else appears to know what to say. God, why are they all so awkward? 

“Look. Dad was a shithead,” Ben imparts, looking around at them all. “Don’t be like Dad.”

It takes a minute for anybody to crack, but Vanya does first. Even Five has a smile.

“That’s your great wisdom?” Five asks. “You’ve clearly spent too much time with Klaus.”

“Clearly,” Klaus says, expression slightly blank. Diego worries, squeezes Klaus’ sleeve where he’s still holding on. His brother tugs away, subtly enough, but Diego gets the hint and loses his grip.

“Okay, fine,” Ben rejoins. “Here’s wisdom. Instead of figuring out what Dad was preparing us for, which we will probably never do because we can’t agree on anything apparently, why don’t we just sort our freaking lives out?”

Five frowns. Vanya leans forward a little.

“What do you mean?” asks Luther.

“I mean,” Ben gestures around them all. “Even if we agreed that there was a thing coming. How are we in any shape to face it together? We were winging it last time and it almost didn’t work at all. Why can’t we get a grip and learn to communicate like adults? We’re supposed to be a team.” He pauses, then adds, “I appreciate the irony of what I’m saying and would thank you all not to comment on it.”

The reason Diego doesn’t immediately call him out on hypocrisy, final words be damned, is just because he’s out of practice with Ben and the snipe isn’t automatic.

Another silence descends, and Diego realizes that he’s now thinking about the circumstances in which Ben died; how different things might have been if they had just-

If they had-

He can’t.

Diego swallows. Puts all regrets and all thoughts of the past and all attached hurt out of his mind. 

“I… think you’re right,” Allison sighs.

“He is,” Vanya agrees.

“Alright,” says Luther. “I see your point.”

“Apocalypse. Forty-five years,” Five intones, dully.

“Therapy,” Vanya says seemingly automatic.

“Fifty-eight,” Five returns, as quick, sounding like something he’s said more than twice now.

“Stop trying to get out of learning something,” Ben chides.

“I’m quite good at therapy,” Klaus chimes in, a little absently.

“Me too, I got secondary exposure,” Ben says, “I know what I’m talking about.”

“You weren’t even fucked up for any of it,” Klaus says, looking over at Ben.

Diego feels out of his depth, a little adrift, a little disconnected. 

“Please,” Luther says. “Would everybody just consider moving back in? Not forever. Just until we figure this thing out. Dad’s stuff is here and whether you agree with me or not… there’s a strong possibility that we’re gonna need it,” he finishes.

Diego can’t believe how calm his siblings look right now, several of them actually nodding. He imagines moving back into the Academy. Living there again. Dad didn’t have a fucking clue about any plan or enemy or… anything. He can’t go along with that bullshit. He also doesn’t want to start another fight with Luther, or re-invite any of the yelling from before. He doesn’t know what to do. 

“Can you ask me again in a week?” Diego requests, realizes maybe a minute too late that he does it with his head in his hands. He doesn’t look up to see what expressions are on his sibling’s faces.

 

He has too much to think about (or more honestly to avoid thinking about), but one thing is working out strangely well. It doesn’t take long, is the best thing about it. He’s not sure what to expect, but after the first couple of mornings avoiding the razor and just using his hands to shove his hair out of his face instead of pushing it back – Diego looks different. 

Nobody comments on it. He goes back to his boiler room, works out all day, fights a little bit, coaches a little bit. People greet him by the name Mom gave him. Nobody bugs him about anything personal. The routine works.

As the week passes, he feels himself start to relax. He feels a little better.

Five ruins it.

 

“Kid,” Diego hears Al call out, and gets a strange feeling of dread.

“Hey,” Al yells, having clearly been ignored and walked past, and then almost simultaneously, “hey,” he hears from behind him, and he considers for a minute just ignoring the guy, but.

Diego racks his dumbbells. “What are you doing here?” he acknowledges his brother.

“Can we talk?”

“Fine.” Diego wipes his forehead. Turns to see Al looking confused as to whether to be irritated at Five or irritated at Diego. “He’s my brother,” he tells Al, loudly, not waiting for his reaction, before throwing his towel over his shoulder and walking in the direction of the back rooms without further discussion. Five follows.

In the boiler room apartment Diego heads for the sink, gets himself a glass of water, as much to ground himself from the unexpected intrusion – family apparently gets his anxiety going quicker than burglary, how about that – as to re-hydrate after an accessory session lifting heavy weights.

“I didn’t appreciate the set up you had here, last time,” Five says, looking around, arms crossed.

“And now you do?” Diego says, before he can overthink himself.

“It’s very… you,” Five tells him, looks back at him with a smirk. Diego just doesn’t feel it.

“Great,” he says. “Look.” He thinks. “I know you think I’m a dumb meathead or whatever. So.” Five’s face drops unexpectedly. Diego frowns, finishes, “just tell me what you want.”

He’d meant it as factual. Five has said as much, repeatedly, both when they were kids and since coming back.

“That’s,” Five starts, and then looks away. “I’m not,” he tries again, and Diego waits. Five squares his shoulders, glares at him. “Don’t project your insecurities onto me and try to pass them off as my opinions,” and he sounds pissed and also like he’s echoing somebody else.

“That’s not what I’m doing,” Diego retorts, weirdly reassured at Five suffering through something. So cocksure, all the time. Even a fucking apocalypse couldn’t burn that trait out of his personality.

“Well.” Five cuts himself off. He looks genuinely pissed. He doesn’t continue. Diego raises his eyebrows.

“What’s the matter?” Diego asks, folding his arms and taking a step forward.

Five breathes out through his nose, heavily. “Okay,” he says, “look.” Oh God. “At the house last week. You looked pretty upset. I’m here to ask what’s so wrong.”

When Diego frowns at him, Five adds, “Luther’s not asking much. And you’re young, you have your whole life ahead of you. You shouldn’t be so miserable. The world never ended. Our family is together. If there’s something I don’t know about, you have to tell me. I can fix it.”

“I’m… getting that you see me as some kind of miserable baby,” Diego deciphers, growing irritated fast.

“That’s not what I meant,” Five reprimands, leaning back with crossed arms. “Don’t twist my words.”

“Come on Five,” Diego rolls his eyes. “Why are you really here?”

“I told you,” Five bites out, sounding annoyed himself now. “You have to tell me what the problem is, so I can fix it and you can spend time at the Academy without looking like the only thing there that doesn’t make you miserable is Grace.”

Diego thinks for a minute. Fuck Five, seriously. “Get out,” he settles on.

“No.”

“I’m serious, get out.”

“Ben wants to talk to you. He’s scared that he fucked up too badly.”

“You’re wasting your breath, Five. Don’t think I won’t punch an old man.”

Five looks contemplative, then. “I honestly thought mentioning Ben would do it.”

Diego shrugs. “You’ve just pissed me off even more.” It’s the truth.

Five sighs again, clearly frustrated. “Fine,” he says. “Be impossible. You’re the only one resisting, you know. Luther’s on to something. You have responsibilities whether you like it or not.”

“Get. The. Fuck. Out,” Diego reiterates, reaching for the cutlery on the draining board. Five takes the hint, turns into a flash of blue. Diego waits a minute, grinds his teeth, runs his hands through his hair. It’s grown enough that he can. He finds himself hoping it’s a mess.

Hi doesn’t know what to do, so he just takes a shower. Resolutely thinks about what he’s going to do with the kids class that evening. They’re the ones that deserve his attention.

He feels cleaner and better when he’s done. Fixes himself some pasta. Goes back upstairs to eat it.

“Kids class is six ‘till seven,” Al tells him, next to the ring. “This ain’t the place for ‘em rest of the day.”

“Fuck off, Al,” Diego tells him, mildly.

“Damn cheek,” Al tells him, with no heat whatsoever to it. “You can put in a good word with that spicy brunette that keeps bringing her boy down to make me up for it.”

“Pretty sure she’s married, Al. To the kids Dad.”

“No harm in a little chit chat though, is there.”

 

Spicy Mom spends the class chit chatting with the proprietor as requested. Diego refrains from commenting, eye rolling, etc and just gets the kids through the hour long class. Once he’s done, he takes the time to give tips to a fresh amateur who comes in to spar with some of the vets after work, does his social duty a little, and then heads back to get more food. Maybe a nap before he gets out into the city for the night.

He shouldn’t be so surprised to see Five again, this time lounging on his fucking bed. He’s holding a bottle of wine or something. It appears to have been emptied.

“Think making it stink of booze in here’s gonna get me out?” Diego snaps, slamming the fridge door, absently realizing he’s almost out of juice. Without pineapple, breakfast just isn’t the same. He needs to go shopping. There’s a second plate of pasta waiting for him, but he’s not eating it while Five is bugging him like this.

“I’m sorry,” Five more than surprises him by saying.

“Good,” Diego bites, habit, possibly unnecessarily. 

“I did this wrong,” Five says. He doesn’t sound drunk, but he does sound pretty fucking relaxed. Diego’s only ever seen him after a bender, never during, and definitely never at the lighter end.

“You really did not need to come back here,” Diego tells him, annoyed.

Five stands up, slowly. Diego positions himself in the center of the room, arms folded.

More clearly feeling the affects of the alcohol, now he’s upright, Five shuffles forward; sighs. He moves closer until he’s in Diego’s space, making him tense. He puts the bottle on the table next to him and then, projecting his movements pretty clearly, reaches for Diego’s left arm. When he gets his brothers wrist he tugs a little, and Diego lets it go reluctantly.

“When I first came back to this timeline I was so focused on fixing everything that it didn’t cross my mind,” Five says, and Diego lets him talk even though he doesn’t know what he’s talking about. “It wasn’t until after we stopped it, things slowed down, the Commission was inactive-” the what? Diego doesn’t know if he’s missed something here, weren’t those the guys in suits? Masks? “I didn’t stop to think. But one afternoon it occurred to me. I almost missed it. I almost jumped too early.”

He tugs Diego’s sleeve up. Diego doesn’t pull away, but he does look steadily at the wall opposite. Five hasn’t just pulled his sleeve up enough to show the tattoo. He’s pulled it high enough to catch the very end of a trio of thick scars, trailing down from the crook of his elbow to midway down toward his wrist.

“I almost missed my tattoo,” Five is saying. “By months, which doesn’t sound like much. But with time travel...” he trails off. “Looks like that’s not all I missed.”

Diego forces himself to relax. Doesn’t snatch his arm back like he kind of wants to. Five doesn’t know what those scars are.

“Did it get worse?” Five asks. “After I was gone?”

Diego doesn’t know what to say. Five continues, “You don’t stutter now. I remembered you used to. I never really noticed it at the time. It was just how you talked.”

“You’re a little different yourself,” Diego tells him.

Five lets him go. “I’m trying to tell you that I care,” he says, not looking at him. “I’m not very good at it.” He reaches down for his own sleeve as Diego tries not to rush pulling his back down. Five exposes the ink, touches it with his index finger. “You see,” he says, looking at the tattoo. “We’re a family.”

“You think that makes a family?” Diego asks him, honestly hoping he doesn’t say yes.

“I think it symbolizes that we went through a lot, as little kids,” Five says, still touching his own skin. “Ever since then...” he trails off.

It’s hard. Diego thinks back to the theater, breathes a minute. He takes Five’s arm in his hand, looks at him seriously. “When you jumped us back. Thank you,” Diego says, sincere as he can, “for not making us relive any of that bullshit.”

Five looks up at him.

Diego confesses, “I was fucking terrified for a minute.”

Five’s face does something strange. He shuffles his feet, puts his hands in his pockets.

“Vanya doesn’t have a tattoo,” Diego brings up, now. “You actually like Vanya. She not in your family club?”

Five frowns again. “Vanya doesn’t need a tattoo,” he says after a minute. “And.” He pauses. Looks like he’s deciding to do something. “I ‘actually like’ you.”

“No you don’t,” Diego says.

“I fought to come back to all of you.”

“You know,” Diego tells him, “it’s okay to admit that you came back for yourself. It doesn’t all have to be about the apocalypse.”

Five is silent for a beat, looks down at the floor. His eyes are shut. When he opens them, he takes a deep breath. His hands leave his pockets, and he takes another step forward until he’s close enough to reach up and hold Diego’s face in both hands. At thirteen, Five was taller than Vanya is now. Diego is too startled to think other than to absently wonder how much further up Five is going to grow.

“I often thought I’d never see any of you again,” Five interrupts his thoughts, looking up at him. “I didn’t get a million conversations.” He holds Diego steady. “I always thought it would be the best part. When we got old enough. More in control of our powers.”

He doesn’t understand why, but suddenly Diego feels the weight of the grief he’d felt when Five never returned; the first loss they suffered together. Before Ben, before… everything after that.

“I missed you,” he manages to let out, even though the words don’t even begin to cover what he’s feeling.

Five rubs big kid hands over the stubble that’s growing into some kind of a beard (Diego thinks. He wouldn’t know, he’s never had one before). “You’re a good kid,” he mumbles, and lets his hands drop. “I just want to know what I have to do to help.”

Diego blinks. Five blinks. Five pulls away. If Diego has to take a minute before he speaks, Five doesn’t comment.

“So you’re an emotional drunk today,” Diego says, shakily. “Touchy-feely.”

“Sue me. I’ve been working through some things,” Five says. “Come and work on some things with me.”

“I don’t think it works like that,” Diego tells him.

“Please come home,” Five says. “It’s not right without you. For the day. Just for the day. That’s all.”

Diego nods. What else can he do. “For the day,” he says. Five nods, looking like he thinks he’s done a good job. “Tomorrow.” Another thought occurs to him. “You better not be driving back,” Diego adds, suddenly, and Five snorts, pats Diego on the face again and vanishes.

 

The next day he waits until mid morning, but visits the Academy like he said he would. He finds Klaus first, wants to apologize. For what, now, he isn’t even sure. But he tries. He doesn’t manage to get the words out, really, but Klaus seems to know what he’s trying to do because he all but bullies Diego into servitude, in the form of painting his nails for him.

“Why did I never think of this before,” Klaus ponders. “My hands are pretty steady but yours are obviously gifted.”

Diego finishes a thumbnail, moves on to Klaus’ index fingernail. The cerulean polish makes him think of cartoons, for some reason. Something about the vibrancy of the blue.

“There’s probably a lot of things we didn’t think of,” he returns, concentrating on the task at hand, trying not to think too hard on it.

“I missed you,” Klaus says, not looking at him.

“I-” Diego falters, realizes that he can’t find any excuses for the past six months or so. “Where have you been?” He settles on asking, instead.

Klaus steers the conversation elsewhere. “No,” he says. “I meant when we were twenty-whatever.” He stops, bites his lip. “Not now. You’re right here. Now.”

Diego pauses, Klaus holding out his pinky for paint, all hands involved steady as can be.

“I ran away,” he says, finally, and the words surprise him. “You weren’t here,” he tries to explain, realizes it’s a stupid thing to say and cuts himself off. “I had to go,” he tries again. “I don’t understand how we ended up back here.” After we survived the first time, he doesn’t say, unsure if he’s overly emotive on the topic, trusting that Klaus would surely say something first if he weren’t.

His brother’s hand – the one he isn’t painting – reaches out for his shoulder. Diego waits, forcibly relaxed, feels the contact as it falls.

“You’re not the only one who hated it,” is all Klaus says, looking fleetingly utterly miserable. 

“I missed Ben,” Diego confesses. If he died, you could too, he doesn’t say, because it’s getting too close, too close, too close.

“Me too,” Klaus says, the hand on his shoulder squeezing.

“Is he okay?” Diego asks. 

Klaus suddenly looks amused, and Diego is so glad to see his face brighten that he forgets to wonder what that means.

The first coat is finished in fairly record time, if Klaus’ look is anything to go by, Diego just sits back and watches it dry. He isn’t expecting Klaus to offer,

“By the way. You can ask about it, you know,” studiously examining the polish himself, as though it were doing something more interesting than taking three full minutes to dry.

“About what,” Diego tries, careful now.

“Solicitation, dumb ass,” Klaus tells him, cheerfully. “Or. Well. Whatever you want. You had such interesting commentary, when we were yelling at each other in the kitchen. I thought you might want to know that you can ask.”

Diego feels trapped, like this is a test. One he can’t win. So he just lets words happen, decides to blunder onward. Not just get angry about it like he would have before… before.

“I didn’t… Don’t, know how to describe what I meant when I. It’s. Difficult. I don’t… know what words to use.”

Klaus waits patiently for him to get through the sentence, and then says, “’do you know that you can talk to me?’ is what I’m asking.”

Diego sighs. He thinks, some days, that everything he does is going to be wrong one way or another. “Why is it that every time I try to step away from this place, something pulls me back,” he says, going down a different road. “I didn’t want to be. Me. I guess. Back then when we. I didn’t tell anybody you were my brother. That’s why I didn’t talk to you. I wish I had.”

“No regrets,” says Klaus casually, but he, strangely, looks uncomfortable now. “I know why you left the police academy.” He offers, a new road of his own.

“No you don’t,” Diego returns, automatically.

“I do,” Klaus says, not looking at him. “I made a pretty good guess.”

“Nope,” Diego counters, immediately, possibly too firmly, pulling his hand to examine the nails a little. “Is there supposed to be more nail polish?”

Klaus looks at him a minute. “I think that looks pretty good,” Klaus says, then, waving his fingers through the air. “I kind of need a cigarette. Did you ever smoke?”

“Nope,” Diego says, deliberately light.

“I know that,” Klaus says. “I don’t know why I asked.”

Diego doesn’t know what to say, so he doesn’t say anything.

He follows Klaus downstairs, parts ways in the hallway. He doesn’t want to smell like tobacco smoke.

 

“Hi. Diego.”

Fuck. That conversation with Klaus had been enough for him. And… he didn’t really plan for this, to just run into Ben in the hallway. Because they’re going to have to talk. More fucking talking.

His brother looks strangely unsure. 

Diego doesn’t know what to say. He tries, “Ben…”. He trails off.

Ben says, “How angry are you with me? Be honest.” 

“I’m not angry,” Diego says, and it’s not honest but he’s not angry with Ben. He’s just… angry.

“For real?” Ben sounds unsure and confused. Diego hates it.

One thousand percent okay, he wants to say. I missed you so much, he wants to say. I want to just pretend you never died, he wants to say.

“What are you talking about?” is all he manages. He wants to sit somewhere. He wants to stand, in case he has to run away.

“I feel like such an asshole,” Ben tells him. “I’ve been avoiding everybody. I just. I can’t-”

Diego waits, but he doesn’t continue.

“Hey,” Diego says. “You were dead. That’s. That’s a lot.”

“This is it, though,” Ben says. “I was dead. Nobody saw me. Nobody watched me.” He pauses, the stillness about him striking Diego.

“Can I touch you?” He blurts, suddenly.

“Yes,” Ben agrees, looking at him as though he can’t imagine why Diego would want to.

Diego shuffles closer, considers, and then decides on grabbing his brothers’ hand, instinctively lacing their fingers like he wouldn’t with anybody else, like they did sometimes when they were little kids, pulling each other around, the unit they knew how to be. Ben lets him, both of them staring at their hands.

“I’m so sorry I hit you,” is what Ben says next.

“It’s okay,” Diego counters, immediately, not thinking about it.

“No it’s not. We’re all so shitty to each other all the time.”

“No we’re not,” Diego argues for some reason, even though he agrees.

“Don’t argue with me,” Ben snaps. His hand clenches around Diego’s. “I’m sorry I hit you,” he says again, pointedly.

“Apology accepted,” Diego tries, guessing that it’s what Ben is after. “Do you want to talk about it?” He asks. “Can I help?”

A strange kind of laugh bubbles up through his brother’s chest, and Ben looks two seconds away from crying or laughing hysterically, Diego can’t tell which. “Why would you ask that?” He says. “You never asked anything like that, before.”

He tries for honesty. “I grew up some.”

His hand twitches. He aches to reach out and push up Ben’s sleeve, look at his tattoo. He doesn’t understand why.

He feels the gulf of distance between the time Ben died to now. Who he was then, who he has become. He hasn’t seen Ben. How much has Ben seen of him?

“I saw you reading Dad’s notes. Before the funeral.”

“Okay.” Another reminder that Ben had been there this whole time. Did every dead person linger? He avoids thinking about Patch.

“I saw you reading about me.”

“Nosy,” Diego breathes.

“You wanna grab a soda or something?” Ben asks, suddenly. “From the kitchen?”

“Okay,” Diego assents, and finds himself pulled along by the hand. 

Mom bustling about in the huge kitchen cleaning silver wear, gets them glasses and lemonade from the fridge.

“Mom, I punched Diego,” Ben tells Mom, as she does everything she’s doing quietly, perfectly.

“Oh Ben,” Mom says. “Whatever for? Diego, dear, are you alright?”

“No, Mom, it was ages ago. I was a dick.”

“Language,” Mom chides. “Well I hope you said sorry. If you’ve said sorry, then I’m sure your brother forgives you.”

“I’m sorry,” Ben says, to Diego, again. “I really am. You haven’t brought it up or even hit me back.”

“I don’t care. I don’t want to punch you.”

“There,” Mom interjects, serene. “You see?”

“You didn’t even ask why I did it.”

“Do you want me to?”

Ben looks at his lemonade. “Everybody seemed to like me a whole lot more when I was dead, you know that?”

Diego feels like his heart stops, just for a second. “That’s not true.”

“I’ve had a long time to think about it.”

Diego remembers being small again, holding hands with Ben sometimes. That stopped before they were teenagers. When they were teenagers, and when the divides really took root.

“You’ve been through some really traumatic shit,” he tries, thinking back to stuff Sheila has said that’s actually made any sense.

Ben snorts.

“You mean dying?”

Yeah. That.

“And. Coming back. That has to be...” Diego doesn’t know what to say.

Ben doesn’t speak for a minute. When Diego looks, he sees something wet fall down Ben’s otherwise perfect face, and then another couple of things. Ben’s biting his lip. He waits a second, seems to just breathe, and then scrubs the moisture away.

“I didn’t want to say anything but,” Ben says, like it’s a joke.

“I don’t care,” Diego says, “if you wanna sit here crying, I don’t care.” Because, he’s just realizing, Ben is fucking crying. “Don’t feel like you’ve gotta act like you’re anything you’re not, okay?”

“Even though I punched you,” Ben smiles. “You’re still like this.”

Diego shrugs.

“I punched you and avoided you for months. And you’re just telling me it’s okay if I cry on you at the kitchen table.”

“Somebody probably should cry at the kitchen table, the way everything has been this week. This year. Every year. Ever.” Diego feels tired.

“I start and I won’t stop,” Ben threatens, out of nowhere. “Do you understand that? I won’t stop.”

“I’d wait it out,” Diego promises, honestly. “I’m just… I’m sorry. But I’m just so glad that you’re… here.”

“What if I’m not glad?” Ben grinds out, through his teeth, avoiding Diego’s gaze.

“You preferred being… ?” Diego blanches, doesn’t get to finish.

“Dead? No,” Ben says, and then his face colors a little, his voice wavers. “I don’t want that. I just. This is.” He inhales sharply. “I could never just be. Happy. With anything.”

“No,” Diego agrees, moving close enough to get an arm around Ben, pull him into his open side, tight. Ben grips his forearm, soft at first, and then clutches down, lets his head push against the side of Diego’s.

“You didn’t care about me,” he says, and the crying starts to come again. “I had Vanya, and Five. You and Luther always were always together. I don’t know why I’m bringing it up. I just think everybody seemed to like me more after. And now. I’m. It’s hard. Fuck. I swear I’ve been able to act normal every other fucking day here… ”

“Language, boys,” Mom says, again, having seemed content to watch the exchange in silence up to this point. She produces a handkerchief which she gives to Ben. “I know you’re upset, sweetheart. We missed you terribly.”

Ben shoves the fabric over his face, sighs.

“You’re okay,” Diego has no idea if he’s lying as he says it to him, hugging him tighter. “It’s fucked. You’ll be okay.” In his head, he’s panicking; alarm bells after more alarm bells. He had no idea. All consumed with how he felt in the absence of his brother; he maybe forgot a lot of things about Ben, and maybe most of them he never really knew in the first place. “God. I missed you. Please don’t think I didn’t. Please don’t think we didn’t miss you. You were there, right? You saw us. We were stupid kids, we were assholes to each other. You’re right. I want to make it better. Ben,” he says, “you’re alive. I know you were here, it’s so different seeing it and I’m an asshole, I need somebody to tell me if I make any difference, I need to see it or I can’t.” He shuts his eyes, sighs. “I’m sorry.”

They sit there in the kitchen a while. It’s quiet, still. He just holds on, wishing he wasn’t too chickenshit to talk like this until confessions of abject misery and crying necessitate it. Mom fusses a little more, like she used to when they were kids. With the presence of Ben and the memories flooding in, it’s hard to keep a straight head.

“I saw you read Dad’s notes about me crying in my sleep,” Ben says, after a while. He moves a little, wipes at his eyes. Diego removes his arms from Ben’s torso; he thinks briefly on the sleeping monsters in there.

“Allison said she found a bunch of old tapes of us all,” Diego tells him, unsure as to why. “Asleep half the time. Like family movies, she called them.”

“That’s so fucked up,” Ben says.

Mom sighs.

“Yep,” agrees Diego. “You still cry? When you’re sleeping I mean?” He doesn’t plan to ask, it just… happens.

“No clue,” Ben says, carefully now. “I don’t sleep near anybody else.”

“But you sleep, right?” Diego thinks on the faint shadows under his eyes; he doesn’t recall ever seeing Ben look tired in his former life, even though he must have been.

His brother shrugs halfheartedly. “I guess. It’s fine.”

“There, now. Would you like some warm cocoa?” Mom asks him, taking back the handkerchief ones he’s done.

Diego frowns. He decides to let it go. Klaus or Vanya or Five will no doubt be on it.

They drink cocoa in the kitchen until Diego had planned to leave.

He hopes to God he doesn’t run into any other siblings on his way out, and on the drive back to the gym he hopes to God that none of them remember his number before he can get over whatever the day has been. He feels strange, and awful, and the anger that usually keeps him going is starting to ebb. Diego thinks it will come back, he just has to keep going, keep pushing. He’ll be alright.

 

Diego sleeps. He doesn’t intend to; but he hasn’t been this tired in a while. Even in his dreams, though, every conversation is a struggle, everybody wants to talk about their feelings. Diego buried his feelings years ago, they don’t need airing now.

 

He goes back to the Academy the following day, finds Mom first. Five is in the kitchen drinking coffee. He salutes him, looking pleased to see him. Diego has water from the tap, raises his eyebrows back at Five.

“Do you need any help, Mom?” He asks, seeing as she’s lifting furniture around, seemingly in order to do the dusting.

“Oh, no, dear,” Mom tells him, predictably. “You catch up with your brothers and sisters. I’m very happy doing the housework.”

Diego sighs, sad not to have an excuse to stay indoors, just the two of them.

 

It’s not as bad as day one. Diego has to leave to teach the kids class again. He tells Allison as much when he begs off of watching a movie with her and Vanya and gets a look in response that he decides is vaguely insulting.

“That’s awesome,” Allison says, in contrast to the surprise she just displayed. Diego wants to roll his eyes, doesn’t. Fed up of causing fights. What had Luther said? That was all he knew how to do. Whatever.

“I’ve got a fight the night after next, too,” he says, in that vein, “so maybe skip tomorrow?” He’s not actually asking for permission, but he figures it’s good to give them some warning. Maybe. Fucked if Diego knows how this shit works.

“Sure,” Allison says, and looks like she’s waiting for something, but Diego is more tired than he was a month ago and doesn’t know what to do about it, so he says, “okay. Bye.” and leaves.

 

Spicy Mom is back to talk to Al. God only knows what he’s saying. Diego is more invested with getting one of the kids to knock off the attitude. He doesn’t want to tell the kid to chill the hell out, because he’s fucking seven years old. He spends a while making them do mirroring exercises with different partners, and then does a final bit of a ‘work out’ that focuses on quality, not speed or competition in any way. By the end of the session, attitude kid is focused on what he’s doing, rather than trying to prove something.

Diego wants to ask his Dad how many siblings he has, but that feels a little too close to taking a bet, and Diego doesn’t need any more vice in his life.

 

The next day passes in a haze of mobility work and maybe a little bit of cardio because it’s just a fight, he’s not exactly getting paid for this. Al’s hosting the match; he gets to continue to live rent free whether he wins or not. People love to watch two guys kicking the shit out of each other, and Al charges a fairly profitable entry fee.

Diego thinks about the kids, about competition. None of these guys are ever really his competition. Maybe sometimes, but when he compares them, to, say, Luther - 

Okay. Thinking about his siblings is beginning to take on an edge. Diego stops.

He tries to sleep the night before, doesn’t go patrolling. Leaves the police radio on, just in case. Nothing big happens. Eudora’s voice is never there. He can’t talk to her ever again. Can’t even drop by the station because he’d have to see where she used to sit, where he used to bug her and actually help out once in a while.

Diego spends half the night wondering about the reaction of the guys who honest to god thought he’d shot her, once they got the ballistics back from that asshole Hazel’s gun. He didn’t know most of them. Maybe a couple. He was shy, at the police academy, when he got there. It was a strange new world, one he didn’t always understand – and other cadets knew the weirdest shit that he had never even thought to wonder about. Spoke about their families in ways he couldn’t relate to. “Remember this,” “Remember that,” kids TV, branded breakfast cereal, fashion trends of the decade when he was growing up.

Getting help with homework, being taken to baseball games to hang out with their Dads.

The police academy looked safe from the outside, looked like the kind of place where he could be useful once he escaped Reginald. In the end, he was still the alien; keeping quiet to avoid questions, recognition, anybody asking about his fucking holiday plans even. Every day there were a million opportunities to fail, and even more to just be a freak.

Eudora had gotten past that first brick wall by never bringing up any of that shit. She wasn’t as damaged as him, but he figured she had seen enough in her life to know how to make him feel at ease, how to make him chill out and actually talk to someone.

And ultimately, that’s why they didn’t work. She wasn’t as damaged as him. She couldn’t understand, relate, be that confidant. He couldn’t tell her what went on in his head.

And when he left…

Fuck.

It’s too fucking much.

Diego rolls over, imagines suffocating himself in his pillow. Wonders who else knows that it’s something he could never manage to achieve. What else his siblings can do that they haven’t told each other about.

Diego goes to sleep.

 

The fight is brutal. No other words. Diego loves every second.

His vision tunnels the second he gets in the ring, and the first hit he takes is in the throat – dual advantage of adrenaline spiking through the roof and no oxygen problems like the guy is expecting. The referee calls it a foul. Diego spits for the sport of it.

He draws it out a little, makes it interesting. Three rounds in, he feels more alive than he has for months, the pain making everything real and present and good somehow. He’ll pay for this tomorrow, maybe, but then, when doesn’t he? Beating up criminals or beating up guys who want to get beaten up and beat on somebody else? Where’s the difference?

Diego plays with the guy until his energy starts to wane and he recognizes the signs of beginning to punch on adrenaline alone. And then he drops his opponent with a swift kick to the temple, flash as fuck. He’s Diego fucking Hargreeves, ladies and gentleman, the ref counts to three. It’s a KO.

Diego waits to see the guy up within twenty seconds, because he has no interest in losing sleep wondering if he’s caused any lasting brain damage.

He’s fine. Diego’s fine. There’s blood over the both of them, but head wounds are like that and they’re both in helmets.

As he steps toward the corner, a familiar face surprises the hell out of him. He’s too buzzed, he walks past, grabs his water.

It’s Klaus. He looks wildly around, spies Luther near the back wall with Vanya on his fucking shoulders. Klaus is more or less ring side, grinning wildly, brandishing a towel.

Diego avoids his swipes as he gets out of his mouth shield and helmet; can’t avoid it when Klaus crashes into him after and plants a massive wet kiss on the side of his face.

It kind of hurts, right on what will be a good bruise, but Diego doesn’t say a thing. Klaus switches up to using the towel and Diego lets himself be dabbed, surprisingly gently. 

The crowd are going back after their bets; not many of them staying to see what state the boxers are in. Still. 

“I’m going downstairs,” Diego says, even though he’s meant to go to the changing rooms. “Need to ice my lats.”

“Can I come too?” Klaus says, petting him like it’s cute that he just toyed with giving another guy a major concussion. “I have to congratulate you some more.”

“If you want,” Diego shrugs, sneaking out of the back of the crowd like he prefers. Al will find him later, when the gym has cleared out. “Come on,” he says, grabbing Klaus by the hand.

By the time they’re downstairs, Klaus is looking bemused. Diego shrugs it off, shoves his head back under the tap. Bloody water sluices away.

“This is you,” Klaus says, finally, when the water is running clean. Diego shuts it off.

“What do you mean?” He asks.

“That was you,” Klaus says again. “Damn. Why are you still boxing amateur?”

Diego’s good mood rankles a little. Al says the same thing after every fucking match. No wonder Diego avoids him around this point.

“Fuck off,” he snaps at Klaus without thinking, adrenaline fading now, aches and tiredness replacing it.

“Ex-squeeze me?” Klaus stares at him.

“Fuck. Off.” Diego confirms, hating the new feeling sinking over him now, not wanting the night to end this way, not wanting his siblings to start weighing in on something that was finally just his, goddammit. He feels small, not good enough, fucking shitty all of a sudden.

“But I’m telling you that was amazing,” Klaus says, blinking.

“And yet not good enough, right?” Diego snaps, and shuts his eyes. “Just get out.”

He jumps when he hears the sound of something smashing thrown across the room like it’s been thrown. Opening his eyes warily he sees Klaus, with an expression Diego doesn’t understand, and then opposite him a broken mug.

“You are such a fucking prick,” Klaus tells him, and Diego thinks he’s projecting unsteadiness into Klaus’ movements. “Why are you like this? Don’t worry, I’m leaving.”

When he’s gone, Diego barricades the door from the inside. If he needs to get out, he has the fucking window. He doesn’t want anybody else in the space he worked so hard to call his.

It occurs to him that Klaus had looked kind of hurt, but that can’t be right because it wouldn’t make any sense.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Probably there are mistakes and horror within; pointing them out will only make me look harder for them next time. Which is in one chapter's time. So. Yeah. Erm. Deep breaths.

It’s three in the morning, and Diego still feels raw. He hurts, and not entirely physically. The conversation with Klaus has been thoroughly banished from his thoughts at this point, but the worry has remained; the uneasiness permeates through everything and prevents sleep.

He un-barricades the door.

His senses prickle and he opens it, not quite sleep deprived yet but on the edge of having not slept enough at all. Thirty one, he thinks, wryly. Body’s a-changing.

He still almost startles when he opens his door and finds, slumped against the wall, seemingly asleep, the crumpled down body of his brother. Diego’s first, stupid thought is this: That angle is not good for his neck. He’s going to be sore and cross when he wakes up.

Klaus wakes up when Diego pokes him with the toe of his sneaker. Diego is still in most of the same clothes he fought in, for some reason. After Klaus left he focused on moving whatever he could in front of the door, and then just sat down, stared at nothing. Picked at the scabs forming on his knuckles. Suddenly it was three in the morning.

“Fuck off,” Klaus grumbles, arms shooting up to shield his head. Diego frowns, snaps at Klaus in his head, tells him not to act like that, not to remind Diego he’s spent time sleeping anywhere where that habit would develop. Out loud he says nothing, and Klaus, after a moment, looks up at him from under a skinny forearm. He looks, and he takes a minute, and then he sighs like he’s disappointed but not particularly surprised, and then he climbs to his feet, wincing and stretching a little. Diego takes a step back. The door is still open between them. Klaus turns and just looks at him and neither of them say a word.

After a minute or so of staring, Klaus’ expression changes. Diego can’t parse it, no matter how he badly he wants to be able to. He doesn’t flinch when Klaus steps towards him.

“You punch me and you’re fucking dead, you miserable shit,” Klaus says, sleep still coming through his words. “Don’t think I don’t mean that.” He stops just in front of Diego, looks him up and down. Diego stands, arms at his sides. He doesn’t know what’s happening. He feels the disconnect, again. It frightens him, so he ignores it. “Don’t,” Klaus instructs, unhelpfully, then, moving forward again. “Just,” Klaus says, “for fucks sakes,” and then he’s right in Diego’s space, grabbing his torso with two long, skinny arms. “Fucking asshole,” Klaus says, arms tight around him, and Diego is at sea. “You’re so stupid,” Klaus says, right by his ear, because he’s that close now. “Come the fuck home and let us look after you, you’re useless,” Klaus says, and follows that with, “that was my attempt at gas lighting you, because I don’t know what the fuck else to do to make you get help. You said you were seeing a therapist. I want receipts. I need proof.”

“Fuck off Klaus,” Diego manages, not sure what he’s supposed to be doing with his hands. Nobody touches him like this. Why does Klaus know how to do this?

“No. I love you, you prick,” Klaus informs him. “You didn’t leave me alone when I needed to not be. You followed me into a fucking veterans bar and punched a guy and tried to make me talk to you. I’m a better brother than you because I’m not even going to make you talk to me. I’m just going to follow you. I’d beat the shit out of anyone who made you feel even shittier but at this point it’s all you, and you like hitting people so. Who am I to take away your fun where you can get it.”

Diego stares at nothing. He feels like he should laugh, or cry, or react somehow.

Klaus rocks back on his heels, pulling Diego with him. “Ordinary people are asleep right now,” he says. “Did you know that?”

Diego shuts his eyes.

“You should go to sleep,” Klaus mumbles. “Sleep is good. You don’t look like you’ve slept, so I’m going to make you sleep. I don’t care what horrible shit you have to say to me about that.”

How do you sound so well adjusted, Diego wants to ask. How the fuck are you still here, Diego wants to ask. How did I fail to push you away. Why are you still here.

“Go home,” Diego tries, and he hates himself. “I don’t want you here.”

Klaus hums. “Getting sober was fucking horrible. But now I love sleep so much.”

“I hate-,” Diego tries, and he can’t finish it. It isn’t true, but he can’t.

“This is a huge overreaction,” Klaus informs him, “which is indicative of a larger problem.” Fucking therapist talk. Diego wants to cry, anything, anything but this lack of anything which has overcome him. “Do you want to have a sleepover?”

“What are you talking about?”

“It’s too late to go to the academy. You need to shower and get your jimjams on. And then we’re going to bed.”

Please, no. Not an invasion of his space like this.

“I’m fine,” Diego panics, pulling back. “I’m fine. I’m – fuck – I’m so sorry. I’m stupid. But I’m fine, you should.” He wants to say ‘go away’, can’t make himself when Klaus is still holding on to him despite the half yard between them he’s made.

“What are you sorry for, asshole?” Klaus asks, one of his hands bizarrely coming up to smooth Diego’s still-sweaty hair back.

“I can’t think,” Diego confesses, suddenly. “I can’t think. Stop asking me questions.”

He was alone, the last time his head like this, got worse and then much, much worse. It’s awful but also wonderful to have somebody else holding on to him, pushing him towards decisions. Decisions like,

“Get inside and take a shower,”

and

“I’ll find something you can sleep in if you don’t mind me peeking in your drawers,”

and

“Get in. Lie down. I’m going to turn the light off and I’m coming back and I’ll know if you leave. Imagine we’re eight. This isn’t weird.”

 

When Diego wakes up, he feels one part nauseated, two parts a little bit better for some sleep. He’s on his stomach, clutching a comforter in one hand. Not touching him, a yard or so away, Klaus is on his side, facing him, snoring into the pillow. The comforter he has a death grip on is around their waists. Klaus threw a long sleeved shirt at him when he got out of the shower; appears to have taken one for himself. He looks small in what is, on Diego, usually best described as tight.

Diego rolls until he’s on his back, in the same spot. There isn’t a huge amount of room. He’s impressed at their subconscious even keeping them physically separated.

Jesus, Klaus. Diego mulls on the subject of his brother. He would never have predicted that of all the humans he has ever met, Klaus would wait after Diego yelled at him. Klaus would stay after Diego tried to make him leave. Klaus would sleep next to him to… be here.

Maybe he’s wrong. Maybe Klaus will wake up and it will have been a mistake he’ll just rue.

In the end, he can’t leave without disrupting his brother on the edge of the bed. So Diego stays put until Klaus starts to stir.

It’s not long before his eyes open where he is, and he blinks around a little.

“Di,” Klaus says, groggy with sleep, “you okay?”

Diego stares. “Are you?” he tries.

“Not really,” says Klaus, and Diego crashes, he should be helping, he should- “wait, no, don’t make that face,” Klaus interrupts his panicked thoughts, but what the fuck is he supposed to do? Everything he does ends up ruining something else.

“Klaus,” Diego says, and wants to say something to make him leave but can’t think what.

“Get dressed,” says Klaus, “and come see Ben with me. We’re practicing being alive and touching each other and stuff.”

 

Diego drives them to the academy, despite not feeling entirely road safe. Besides which, his bruises have started to come up. He spies them in the rear view mirror, tries not to look.

He parks around the front today, the better to make a swift exit when Klaus gets distracted later. He follows his brother.

“Ben,” Klaus yells, coming through the front doors. “Beeeeeen.”

“Shut up,” Ben says, “I’m right here, I can hear you,” and he’s coming out of the family room, smiling a little, holding a book, hood down, wandering towards them. He bypasses Klaus to touch Diego, briefly, and then goes back for a bear hug.

“Hey baby, we’re home,” Klaus says.

“I’m not a baby,” Ben says, “don’t call me that.”

“Sorry,” Klaus tells him. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Ben says, and Diego is barely paying attention. “Do you want breakfast?” Ben asks. “Vanya’s making pancakes.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Klaus says, “we could eat.” He tugs on Diego’s sleeve, pulls him with them in the direction of the kitchen.

“You okay, bro?” Ben asks him, frowning a little. Diego’s head snaps around.

“Yeah,” he says, strangely put out. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Just a question,” Ben says, holding up his hands.

“I’m fine,” Diego tells him.

Vanya is, indeed, making something. She’s stirring a bowl next to the stove. Luther is peering over her, which actually looks ridiculous because he’s roughly four times the size and double the height of their sister.

“I don’t see why you won’t let me have a turn,” he’s complaining, ignores the trio as they enter.

“Maybe because I actually want to eat some time this morning,” Vanya responds, sing song, “and last time I let you help you just got batter everywhere and left Mom to clean it up. Oh wait. That was an hour ago. When I originally wanted pancakes.”

“I tried to help clean,” Luther says, affronted. “I thought I was helping.”

“Normally it has to sit for an hour,” Vanya sighs, “but I’m hungry, Luther.” She swivels around, bowl and whisk in hand. “Hey guys. Hey Diego,” she says, smiles at him. “You were awesome yesterday. Want crappy instant pancakes? There’s whipped cream.”

“Are there cherries?” Klaus asks, perking up.

“I can get cherries,” Luther says. “I can do that.”

“Oh my God, Luther, chill out,” Ben says, laughing. “Also don’t get him cherries. He doesn’t wanna eat them.”

“Why do you want cherries then?” Luther asks Klaus, frowning.

“To make crude art, tasteless jokes and see if I can tie knots in the stalks with my tongue while we wait,” Klaus confirms. “I just like the look of them.”

“Is there banana?” Ben asks.

“Oh, yeah, we have those,” says Luther. “Vanya’s totally right, that fight was really great,” he adds. “I didn’t realize it wasn’t just like sparring, you made a full on show of kicking that guys ass.”

Diego doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t want to know what they know about last night after he left the ring. He’s saved from any awkward silences by Vanya.

“Luther, get that pan for me please?” She asks, getting utensils. “Actually get three, must as well make three at once.”

Diego’s mind automatically goes to Allison. He wonders where she is. Wonders if they all still think like that when they hear numbers or if it’s just him.

As Vanya starts to do something magical to make three round pancakes at a time, Luther busies himself further by getting them all plates. He takes a spare over to Vanya, who starts flipping her creations.

“What are you guys up to today?” Klaus asks, “with your functional grown up lives and all that.”

“I uh. Have therapy,” Luther says.

“Ooh snap!” says Klaus.

“Practice,” Vanya tells him. “Plus… I started taking a class on music theory. To. You know. Help the with the practice.”

“Where do you teach?” Ben asks.

“Where – oh! No, I’m studying. I mean, obviously it’s a post doc class, I was thinking about maybe doing a PhD.”

When she turns to dish out the first round of pancakes, she stops short at the stares.

“You have a degree?” Luther asks.

“Well yeah,” Vanya says. “I don’t just randomly teach people.” She distributes the pancakes. “Why is the whipped cream not on the table?” She sounds amused.

“Oh,” Luther says. “Right. I’ll just.” He gets up.

“Spoiled by Mom, us,” Vanya says wryly.

Diego feels like if he tries to eat it’ll get stuck in his throat. He can’t do this. He doesn’t know how to do this.

“Vanya,” he says, looking at his plate. “Thanks. Really. I just have to.” He scrapes back his chair.

“No, no, no,” Klaus grabs at his arm. “Nope, don’t you dare.”

“Eat your pancakes,” Diego says, pulling his sleeve free and ducking out of the room. Immediately he feels less like he’s going to suffocate. The house is still stifling.

He hears Klaus’ sudden frantic whispering trailing behind him, wills himself not to listen to it.

He makes it down the hallway, to the door that leads out into the courtyard, and finds himself just staring out at the place where Luther deposited the ash of their dead warden.

His body feels like lead.

His bones ache.

He doesn’t think it’s because of the fight.

“Diego,” someone says, a couple of times, before he registers the voice. It’s a question, then. “Diego? Could you just let me know that you can hear me?”

He blinks, sees Vanya standing, looking cautious, beside him. “You were hungry,” he says, “you wanted pancakes.” It feels so heavy; he’s ruined that for her as well now. She has degrees and a life and is a real person, and what has he gone and done? Anything at all? He can’t even get out of this house.

“Okay. I want to get you to Mom.”

He hates this house. He doesn’t have the energy to hate this house and now that the fires of hate and anger in his blood have gone somehow, his veins are hollow, there’s nothing in that space. He’s made of nothing and he’s good for nothing and he’s never been any good for anything at all.

“Why,” Diego says, but he sounds strange, even to himself.

“Come on,” Vanya says. “Please let me take you to Mom.” She doesn’t touch him and he is inexplicably glad. Glad in a way that he isn’t really glad at all, because suddenly all he feels is a cavernous absence in his chest.

He somehow follows her to the staircase, up, up. Mom is in the study, doing something. Diego stares, wondering if he is expected to go in. Diego can’t make himself go in.

“It’s okay,” Vanya is saying, but it sounds far away. At the same time, she’s too close, and he hates that anybody is near him right now and he doesn’t know why. “Mom,” she’s saying. “You don’t have to do anything, Mom can help.”

“Diego, dear,” he hears, “what’s wrong?”

“I just need to go,” Diego hears, his own voice speaking somehow. “I just need to lie down. It’s just a headache.”

His Mom is a robot. His Mom is a robot, who is also a nurse. Probably a great surgeon.

“Have you been fighting?” his Mom the robot asks. He’s out of energy. He’s completely out of energy. He can’t speak. He just stares at her. “Oh, dear,” Mom is saying, and Vanya is saying something and Dad’s study is right there and he’s still here just standing still and he’s being touched, pushed, and it’s so overwhelming he covers his eyes, tries to leave, can’t leave, asks for it to just stop, just stop, would everything just stop

 

It doesn’t work out the way Diego plans.

He’s out. He’s gone. Nothing has stopped because there isn’t anything.

 

He realizes that he’s in a bed. He can’t actually get out of the bed. Diego can’t get up. He thinks to roll to his side, can’t. He’s thirsty, he thinks, vaguely. He doesn’t care. He can’t care. If he starts to care, he could die. He could die like Ben. At least Klaus would talk to him when he’s dead. Maybe Klaus will ignore him. Make him leave. No. Ben said people liked him more when he was dead. Maybe they will like Diego, too.

Diego feels a vague itch at his arm, his left arm with the scars from the last time.

The last time his head got like this, the last time he couldn’t get up. Diego stabbed himself in the crook of his elbow, until his body’s self preservation instincts took over and he could get up. This time, he can’t be bothered even with that. He can’t. He can’t.

Diego thinks that he sleeps. His thoughts are restless.

Some time has passed, he thinks, vaguely. Somebody is saying something to him. He’s dead, though, isn’t he? Is he? He will be soon. He will be soon. He can’t remember why he will be.

It’s only Klaus.

I died, Diego wants to say, but his throat won’t cooperate. He feels like his stutter is back times a thousand, and it’s easier to just not try any more.

 

It feels like a long time later, but he can move again.

He still feels heavy, sluggish, but something has passed, maybe over or through him, something has shifted and Diego tests his body by making a fist.

The room is white. There’s a big window at the end.

Mom enters the room in a swirl of white, like a nurses outfit. She looks like a living, thriving Mom. He blinks up at her.

“Excellent,” Mom tells him. “Your siblings will be so pleased. I think just one more dose – now, dear, don’t you look -” if she sticks him with something, he barely notices it. “There. Well done, darling.” More bustling. Diego suddenly feels like he’s sinking. Instead of resisting, he lets it happen.

 

The next time he wakes up, he sits upright. He feels looser than he should. Wonders how long it’s been since he moved. He’s in hospital style get-up with short sleeves. His body feels odd, but he ignores it in favor of making use of the bathroom. When he gets out, Mom is waiting by the bed, a selection of clothes laid out. Sweatpants, smart trousers. The closest thing to sensible is a pair of thicken denim jeans, dark gray, and a long sleeved shirt.

He dresses himself while Mom takes his vitals around his movements. He knows it’s done now, he’s better, because he’s standing up. When she shines a light in his eyes to check his pupils, he takes her hand in his, holds in close.

“Hey Mom,” he croaks, and that’s a definite croak. “Thanks.”

Mom smiles. He loves that smile so much. “Diego,” she says. “My brave boy. Don’t run off now. Remember to stay hydrated.”

Diego pauses. “Mom,” he says, and stops.

“What is it, Diego?” Mom asks, sweet as ever.

Before he answers he pulls up his sleeve. “You saw these,” he says, touching the three raised lines.

“They don’t look like they were cared for at all properly,” Mom says, instead of answering directly. After a long minute of quiet, she says, “I wish I could have been there with you.”

“Me too,” says Diego, meaning it so much.

 

He needs to get some fresh air, probably, now, Diego thinks. He makes a slow journey through the house, and suddenly in front of him is Klaus. His brother’s jaw drops and he all but sprints forward.

Diego braces himself for a hug, but Klaus just takes a shirtsleeve in each hand, holds on gently. It’s good. Klaus breathes, “Jesus, you scared the fucking crap out of me,” in a rush, and then, “should you be out of bed? What the fuck, Diego, where are you going?”

“I’m not sick,” Diego tells him, except,

“That’s really not true,” Klaus says, looking tearful. “I mean. I know what it was. Mom was sure the tCDS was gonna work once she configured it, was it just that or did she give you some of the good stuff to get back into up and at ‘em with?”

Diego scrunches his nose. “You mean… the hat with the electricity?”

“Okay you do look a little like she gave you something else. Is it good?”

“Stop talking so much. I want fresh air.”

“Come on,” Klaus tells him, “let’s go to the bit with the nice flowers.”

They walk fairly slowly until they reach the kitchen door. It’s a reasonably pleasant day. The air feels good on Diego’s face.

Klaus knocks the back of his hand with the back of his own fingers, tentative. Diego glances over at him.

“Just, for real for a sec?” Klaus asks, and Diego halts where he’s walking. “Don’t hate me.”

“I don’t hate you,” Diego scolds his assumption, but Klaus doesn’t smile, just looks at him, eyes big even with the smudged liner.

“No,” Klaus says, “I meant.” He stops. “That was scary. And I don’t want to make you think about it but I know that last time you got through it on your own, and that kind of makes me sick. And I don’t want to tell you why I knew about it because you always act like I shouldn’t, but I will tell you if you ever ask me, just not right now.”

Diego nods, figures he just about follows. He feels mellow enough to allow it to pass by. “Can we just,” he says. “Can we just pretend that didn’t happen?”

“Sure,” Klaus agrees, and they walk some more. “Would you be okay to let the others hug the shit out of you in a bit, though? I’m kind of selfishly hogging you here. They’re gonna be mad when they find out you’re out and about without seeing them.”

“What?” Diego blinks. “Why do they even know… wait, did I speak to Vanya?”

“Di,” Klaus blinks right back. “You can’t go catatonic for over twenty four hours and not have literally the entire family freaking out. Even the least mental health educated of our siblings got that red flag.”

“Oh my God, no,” Diego says, vaguely horrified. “Oh, for God’s sake's.”

“It’s alright, it’s just six more people in the world who are going to be bugging you about going to therapy.”

“I go to fucking therapy!”

“When’s your next appointment?”

Diego grits his teeth. “I don’t – urgh, shit,” he sighs. “Fine. It’s. I think there’s one at the end of the week.”

“Great,” says Klaus, “I’ll drive.”

“You don’t driv-”

“I got a permit, take that.”

“When exactly did you get that?”

Klaus says, “this morning, while Allison was at the library checking out every book she could carry on depression and physical manifestations of mental health,” and smiles. Diego knows he’s going to be attending therapy probably more frequently for a while. Oh well.

They walk a circle around the patch of wild flowers that’s grown in the absence of a gardener. The garden is cheerfully untidy. Diego kind of tentatively likes it.

When they come back in, Ben is in the kitchen waiting.

“I didn’t want to crowd…” he trails off, looking at Diego.

“Come on, man,” Diego rolls his eyes. “I didn’t fucking die.”

Ben snorts, smacks a hand over his mouth. Then his face crumples.

“Benny,” Klaus says.

Ben takes a couple of deep breaths, and then wipes his hands up his face. “Jesus,” he says, eyes screwed up, “um, that’s me freaking out, nothing to do with you,” he tells Diego, hurriedly, and Diego realizes that he had been heading to that conclusion, just much, much slower than he usually would.

Huh. Good drugs indeed.

“You good?” Diego asks him.

“No,” says Ben, and he laughs. “Getting a little bit better at that, though.” He clears his throat. “I had panic attacks for a bit. When I was. You know. Avoiding everyone.” He scrubs his eyes again. “They went away but now they’re back. So, you know. You aren’t a special one in this family.”

“I’m a special one,” Klaus says, and Diego snorts. “What,” Klaus says, “I see dead people.”

“Back on to dead people,” Ben says, and then hiccups a little hysterically.

“Oh, shit,” Klaus says, “if that’s a new trigger thing for you I have to say, I am not gonna be the best person to be around.”

“No avoiding,” Ben hiccups. “Learning. Dealing.”

“Ben are you-” Vanya rounds the corner, looking worried. She cases the kitchen. “Diego, are you, Ben, God, is everybody okay?”

Ben’s laughter turns slightly easier to listen to. “She can’t even choose who to ask,” he says, and Vanya stares at him. “Vanya. Can’t choose. Who’s more of a mess.”

“Oh my God,” Diego says, because what the hell else can he say to that. “I’m fine Vanya. Did I… did… was I talking to you?” He kind of remembers her, but he isn’t sure.

“You don’t- uh, yeah, I mean, I guess,” Vanya says.

“Vanya got you to Mom,” Klaus is looking at him again. “Um. So we were in the kitchen and you left and I told Luther and Vanya that I was worried and didn’t know what to do. Luther wanted to go after you but Vanya made us both stay and found you and got you to go to Mom, and then I guess…”

“That’s basically it,” Vanya says. “How are you doing? Did Mom’s idea work?”

Diego blinks at her. “How did you know how to do that?” He asks, genuinely. “Why did you know to get Mom?”

“Oh,” Vanya says, “I, uh. I had a hard time, after. Uh. When I first came off my pills.I… okay, so I didn’t tell anybody, but I sort of checked in to… a place. Just for a few days, just to sort my head out. There was a women in there who had catatonic episodes. I looked it up after, just in case it ever happened to me.”

“I-” Diego stares. “Cool. Thanks,” he settles on, as sincere as he can make it. Vanya gives him a shrug and a smile.

“I was just having a minor freak out about being dead,” Ben volunteers. “Again. No big.”

Vanya huffs, and Diego watches as she leans over and puts her arms around him. “Always big,” she tells him.

“Everything’s big compared to you,” Diego says, sort of by accident, and Vanya looks at him in surprise. Then she smiles, happy. “Yeah, you’re fine asshole,” she tells him. “Come and see Allison and Luther before one of them has a coronary. I think Five will probably be back any minute and you want to do that with as few people around as possible.”

“What are you talking about?” Diego says, warily. Vanya shrugs, still smiling so it can’t be anything horrific.

They walk out of the kitchen, leaving Ben and Klaus, to the solarium, where it’s warmer. Allison is sitting at a small table, staring down at a book. She looks sad. At Vanya’s entrance she looks up, shoves on a smile. When she spots Diego it drops and she stands.

“Diego,” she says, and hurries forwards. “I – can I hug you?”

“Sure,” Diego says, vaguely confused.

“I just, some of the stuff I read said not to just jump on you after an episode-”

“Do we have to call it that?”

“-but I want to show support, I want you to know that you have your family, I know we don’t always act like the best siblings all the time but you know we’re here for you really? Whatever? Even if we’re fighting?”

“We don’t fight. You make fun of my outfit. I make fun of your marriage.”

“Oh my God,” Allison all but wails, stepping forward and embracing him. She’s as tall as he is, in the shoes she’s got on, and there’s something wholesome about it. She’s his equal in every single way that she could be. She would always choose Luther first, Diego has no doubt about it, but to hear her talk about reading about crap just because it happens in his head once every six years or so is a comfort he relishes in.

“Are you okay?” she asks, stepping back, concern all over her face. “Mom started talking about using electrodes and I had no idea what she meant, I was picturing those things from the movies where they shock people in hospitals. Five didn’t know either, Vanya had to talk him down, he thought Mom had… anyway.”

“Well Mom did the job right,” Diego mumbles. “This is deeply reassuring, and all that, but honestly. I’m fine. Can we go back to casual insults?”

Allison smiles, rubs his shoulders. “I know I don’t know exactly what it’s like,” she says. “This,” she waves back at the table, “is all so over my head. I thought I knew about stuff like this but I guess I was wrong. But I love you and I’m here for you if you need me. If there’s anything I can do for you.”

Diego just stares. Beside him, Vanya has a smile.

“Thanks sis,” Diego says, kind of stunned. “I’m gonna go. Uh. Show Luther I’m alive I guess. Get that over with. 

“Oh.” Allison begins to say something and then stops. Seems to rethink. “Go easy on him,” she settles on.

“Oh my God,” Diego says, once more, and then turns and leaves at an amble. “Vanya you don’t have to baby me around, I’m a big boy I’ll find Luther on my own.”

“Take it easy and don’t leave,” Vanya calls after him, “Klaus will probably have an aneurysm and then he won’t be able to learn to drive.”

“Fucking fuck,” Diego mumbles to himself. He doesn’t really see the need to find Luther, to be honest, and has no idea what the hell Vanya was on about regarding Five but. He figures it’s a good day to take advantage of whatever medication Mom gave him. He can feel bad like usual later.

It takes a good long while, and he’s surprised at where he ends up coming across their Number One. He’s in the family room, of all places, sitting alone, looking at something that he hurriedly shoves under a cushion upon noticing Diego.

Luther looks pale and strange and smells vaguely of alcohol, which Diego immediately hates.

“Man, whatever you’ve been drinking, I’ll come back when you haven’t.”

Instead of retorting, his brother just kind of stares. Diego doesn’t leave immediately.

“I’m sorry,” Luther says. “I’m so sorry.”

Diego blinks.

“I’m so, so, so, so sorry,” Luther says again. “If you don’t want to talk to me now, that’s fine. But I’m sorry and you should know that.”

“What’s wrong with you?” Diego asks, “why are you saying this?”

“No, no, nothing,” Luther says. He doesn’t try to stand or approach Diego. He doesn’t look drunk so much as sort of ill. “I’m saying it because I’m trying to do what’s right and you deserve to hear that, at the very least.”

Diego stares at him. Can’t parse the demeanor and words together. Frowns. “Wait. What’s under that cushion?”

“Nothing,” Luther says, quickly.

“Then why did you hide it when I came in?”

“It’s. Personal,” Luther lies, terribly. “Private, stuff.” He clears his throat.

“Why are you drinking so much I can smell it from here?” Diego asks him, getting a little worried now.

“Stop,” says Luther, “no, don’t make any of this about me.”

Diego crosses his arms, stares his brother down. Luther swallows, looks down. Looks back up.

“It’s just,” Luther says, “um. It’s just.”

“Spit it out,” Diego encourages.

“You don’t actually look that mad at me, which never happens.”

“Oh. Well. Mom gave me. I don’t want to know. I feel better, anyway.”

“Mom gave you what, medication or something? You’re not worried? Not after Vanya…?”

“No, man, what is your deal? It’s nothing like Dad giving me pills because I killed the nanny or what the fuck ever.”

“What?”

“… nothing, uh. Vanya should probably tell you. Uh. Your. Cushion.” And Diego thinks, fuck it, and walks toward the cushion and tries to pick it up.

“No!” Luther yelps, trying to slam his hands down on it but bizarrely avoiding touching him. “Leave it! Stop-”

“Hah!” Diego calls, having snatched… oh. It was a paper file, full of something, and now half of it’s across the couch. He holds it up, skips backward, tries to read a bit.

Nuclear… something… something…

“Give me that,” Luther says, snatching it back out of his hand. Diego jumps on his back, arms around his throat. He tries to roll them sideways, and even he can tell that he doesn’t put enough of his back into it but Luther seems to go anyway, until they land on the couch again, a bizarre heap where Diego is on his back, arms around Luther’s neck, and Luther is upside down like a turtle and Diego has him firmly gripped between his piggyback splayed knees. He waits for something like an elbow to the side, also starts thinking about how fucking heavy Luther is.

Luther holds the paper up as high as he can in front of him, a last ditch attempt at keeping it from Diego.

“You know I can read that from here,” Diego informs his brother, conversationally. He relaxes his hold, tries to see around the side of Luther’s expression. The smell of alcohol bothers him, but he has other priorities now.

“I know, I know, I,” Luther appears to give up, throws the papers over the back of the couch. He doesn’t move, just stays, slumped down, back on Diego’s torso.

“Please don’t bother telling me,” Diego says lightly, running his hands a little over Luther’s massive traps where he’s been holding on, “that you and Five were actually right.”

“Dad was a fucking prick,” Luther breathes, settling back fully onto his brother, and Diego has a handful of the fabric of Luther’s jersey before he knows what he’s doing, and it’s the closest thing he’s ever had to a hug with Luther and he’s still fucking crushing him a little. Which is about right, really.

“Jesus, Luther,” Diego says. “Wait, I-”

“No, no, no,” one of Luther’s grabby hands comes up to his forearm and just… settles on it. “It’s not anything you need to worry about or think about or do anything about. It’s nothing. Don’t think about it. God. Am I… squashing you?” He asks, suddenly.

“Not even slightly,” Diego returns in something of a hurry, both to disagree with Luther and because… never mind why else. He pets Luther’s arm over his.

“So you’re saying you’ve got it completely under control, all the resources you need, minimal risk, nobody needs me to bail them out this time?”

“Oh,” says Luther. “Yeah.”

“Cool,” Diego says… kind of means it.

Luther sits up and rubs at his eyes. Diego imagines his internal organs re-inflating, sits back up behind him. He chances it, reaches a hand forward and puts it on his brothers shoulder.

Luther doesn’t move for a minute. Diego waits. They sit there for a while.

“Could you,” Luther says, and then stops. “Okay,” he says again. “I don’t know what to say. I don’t want to do anything bad to you.”

“Maybe try when you haven’t been drinking,” Diego suggests, stands up. He runs a hand over Luther’s hair, figures it can’t hurt now. His brother shivers, goosebumps coming up on his neck. Diego, unsure if that’s a bad sign, doesn’t touch him again.

“Alright,” Luther says. “Please-”

A flash of blue interrupts him, and both Luther and Diego turn to the center of the room. Five lands, double takes at the tableau and, strangely, backs away.

“Am I interrupting?” Five asks, and it’s weirdly tentative 

“No,” Diego fills, when Luther doesn’t speak. Five seems to take in the paperwork all over the floor.

“I thought we weren’t telling him,” he directs to Luther, delightfully blunt.

“I didn’t,” Luther tries, and Diego can’t deal with Five’s glare, interrupts himself.

“Hey,” he snaps. “Don’t put that on him.”

“What the hell?” Five breathes. “Did you two…” he looks between them. “Are you two…” he stares at Luther. “Did you guys make friends?”

“We’re not friends, he’s my _brother_ ,” Diego tells Five, crossly. “And so are you, you little shit.”

“What did Mom dose you up with?” Five asks, and, bizarrely, Luther is on his feet and storming over.

“Do not fucking make light of that shit,” Luther informs a thoroughly un-intimidated looking Five. “Don’t. I’m not kidding. Just because you have issues the size of fucking Mars that you don’t want to deal with-”

“Step back, Luther,” Five threatens, but Luther barrels on,

“Doesn’t mean you can use anybody else to reassure yourself it’s all fine and none of it means anything, nothing that happened to us means anything, none of us need fixing.”

Five looks him up and down, and then looks away when Luther appears to be done.

“The wisdom of the young,” he mumbles to himself. “Diego,” he calls, looking back at the couch where Diego is just staring at them. “I would hope that you know that I’m not making light of jack shit, he’s just drunk and looking for a fight in the wrong place.”

“No I’m not,” Luther protests, and actually Diego kind of wants to back him up.

“What the ever loving fuck is happening in here?” demands Klaus, from the doorway, and God, why does Diego have so many siblings honestly. “Luther, have a coffee,” he commands. “Five, have a martini. Diego, come and listen to Ben. He wants to sleep here but not in his bedroom and I’m really not a problem solver. We’re fun. We have goji berries. They’re awesome.”

Diego feels like it’s a ploy. He’s pretty sure it’s a ploy. “I read the file,” he tells Klaus, who immediately looks pissed. “I figure you guys can take care of it,” he follows up with, and Klaus looks better, less irate.

“It doesn’t need an army,” Five is saying in the background, but Diego has walked into the hallway, is meandering down the hall, Klaus behind him.

Mom appears around a corner. She’s smiling. Diego resists the urge to beam at her, slump forwards, knowing she could carry him.

“Diego, dear,” she says, “I hope you haven’t been doing anything too stressful. I heard raised voices.”

“Oh,” he says, “no, Mom, it’s fine. Did you know that Luther is developing a drinking problem?”

“Oh, leave him be,” Klaus says from behind him. “It’s not that bad.”

“It’s mid-afternoon and he stinks,” Diego points out.

“I don’t recall you ever caring about _my_ burgeoning drinking problem,” Klaus says, suddenly sharp.

Diego turns mid stride and walks back towards a less-than-happy looking Klaus. He moves until his arms are folded around his brother, thinks back on the last time they hugged, Klaus forgiving him for saying something mean but true.

“I’m really sorry and I’m not a hugger, so I’m hugging you so that you know how sorry I am,” he says. “Let’s be nice to each other.”

“You’re not nice,” Klaus informs him.

“Klaus,” Mom admonishes.

“You’re not,” Klaus insists. “You’re gooey and kind and thoughtful and really, very muscular these days,” it’s complimented by Klaus grabbing at his upper arms and squeezing, “it’s a good combination to hug. So good I can almost forgive you.”

Diego sighs, and Klaus seems content to stay there for a moment.

“Come on,” he says, then. “You were saying something about Ben.”

“And goji berries,” Klaus reminds him.

“I don’t want your weird fruit.”

“Would you like me to move Ben’s bed into your room for the night, Klaus?” Mom asks, out of nowhere.

“Oh, oh, that’s perfect!”

Diego lets Klaus go and turns to look at her. “Do you want me to help you with that?” He asks, automatically.

“No darling, thank you for offering though, I appreciate it very much.”

“Would you please move Diego’s bed in there, too?” Klaus asks, with the kind of certainty that means he thinks he’s had a great idea.

Diego rolls his eyes, but doesn’t object.

“It’s that or sharing, again,” Klaus tells him, cheerful. “I liked knowing you would still be there.”

“I’m not arguing,” Diego points out.

“You can steal some pajamas,” Klaus says, insistent.

“I didn’t say no, Klaus,” Diego tells him, starting to smile.

“It’s not like – oh. Okay.”

Mom smiles and walks away.

“Let’s go find Ben.”

 

They find Ben in the library, curled up in a corner with a book and a bag of little red things he appeared to be fiddling with in his hand rather than actually eating.

“Hey Benster,” says Klaus.

“Hey Klauster,” says Ben, not looking up.

“What are you reading?” Diego asks, interested. “Uh. And hi. I guess.”

Holding the book upright so he can make out the text on the cover, Ben says, “we don’t all have to say hi. Klaus just likes the excuse to use nicknames in public.”

“Do you know that that sounds a little bit weird?” Diego asks him.

“Yes,” Ben tells him.

“And leading on from that,” Klaus says, with a wink, “we’re having a sleepover. My room. Mom’s moving beds as we speak.”

Ben furrows his brow. “Whose idea was that?”

“Mom,” Diego says, watches as Ben looks kind of… something. Something good, anyway.

“Oh,” he says. “That’s. I’ve been kind of having trouble sleeping.”

“Yeah?” Diego tries to prompt.

“Yeah,” Ben huffs, doesn’t say any more.

“It’s perfect,” Klaus says. “Mom’s perfect. I guess that was the idea.”

Diego nods. Doesn’t feel anything other than pleased.

 

The evening rolls around, and Klaus accidentally jumps at something and spills lukewarm cocoa on Diego’s shirt; prompting him to go for the sleep wear section of Klaus’ wardrobe rather earlier than he anticipated.

“Jesus,” he complains, throwing another shirt to the back. It’s too small, like everything else in here. He stomps to the other closet. “Klaus do you not own anything that isn’t skin tight?” He takes his own shirt off in frustration, uses it to blot off the remainder of cocoa sticking to his stomach. Looks around for the wash basket, throws the balled up shirt and lands it. Obviously.

When he turns back, he sees Klaus staring at him, seemingly fascinated. “What?” Diego asks.

Instead of telling him ‘what’, Klaus gets moves from where he was divesting his own bed of scatter cushions allegedly looking for some buried knitting, holding a hand out in front of him and… actually moves to pet his chest. Diego says, “hey!” meant as a warning, tries to back up but there’s nowhere to go.

“You’re so hairy,” Klaus marvels. “I just want to pet you. I never knew you had so much hair.” His hands wander out a little. “Or a _nipple ring_?” He hisses, bizarrely scandalized.

At that, Diego rolls his eyes and turns abruptly back to the cupboard. He finally digs out the first shirt he sees that appears to have enough fabric to cover his torso and shoves it on.

When he looks down at himself, he’s in a tank top with a tie-dye logo for some bar in the middle. On the plus side, it’s large enough to cover right down to his hips and there’s room under his arms to move.

“This must make you look like an infant,” he informs Klaus, turning back. Klaus scoffs.

“Please. You’re not that much bigger than me,” Klaus tells him, stalking back toward his bed. “I’m _lithe_.”

“You’re both _really weird_ ,” Ben interjects, from where he is perched cross legged by the window. “I can’t believe we’re related.”

“I can,” Klaus says, airy.

“Definitely,” Diego concurs, with a grin, and starts back in looking for some sleep pants.

“You have so many scars,” Ben says to Diego, kind of openly staring when he comes back with approximately nothing. Oh well. He’s slept in jeans before.

“Tell me about it,” Diego allows. “I can’t believe you finished that book already.”

Ben shrugs. “You can have it if you want it,” he says, holding it up. He’d read for maybe five hours straight, but it still seemed pretty quick to Diego, who anticipated getting through maybe a chapter before he needs to sleep if he starts on it right now.

“Thanks,” he says, and catches it when Ben throws.

Five minutes later he’s got his legs stretched out atop the covers, book in hand. Klaus is perched next to him with his knitting; it really was buried underneath the cushion mountain. However, his bed is now too covered in cushions to sit on. Allegedly. Ben maintains his perch by the window, head against the wall, seemingly content.

It’s quiet and uncomplicated, and Diego is relaxed enough to fall asleep right there, which, to be honest, is probably a good thing.

 

Diego wakes up slowly, for once; nothing urgent about the quality of the light, the sound of the other two bodies in the room breathing, deep and even; he feels rested, strange.

There’s a hand carelessly thrown over his torso, palm up. He rolls toward the owner and sees Klaus, utterly asleep, on his back, knitting and limbs strewn across the bed. Diego feels a strange fondness, rubs at his eyes, and almost has a heart attack as he looks up a couple of feet.

Suspended from the high ceiling, wrapped in an impossibly thick mass of otherworldly limbs, eyes closed, for all he knows sleeping or dead, either one, Diego can’t figuratively breathe – Ben is in a monstrous cocoon, still and grotesque. Diego can’t figuratively breathe.

A small movement catches him; air escaping Ben’s nostrils. It hits Diego then that he looks – he looks so fucking peaceful, wrapped up in whatever the fuck it is that lives in his chest, uses him as some kind of inter dimensional gateway or whatever the fuck, Diego never pretended that he believed or understood that explanation.

God.

“Ben,” he can’t help escaping him, and moves off the bed and finds his own hand reaching out without his express say so.

He touches the solid mass wrapped tight around his brother. He can’t see where it ends, where it’s coming from, where Ben begins. There is a moment of silence, stillness.

And then Diego is flung backward at such velocity that he cracks the plaster of the adjacent wall. The noise must wake Klaus, who he hears but doesn’t see, because when he looks up all that his vision will take in is Ben, black-eyed and both utterly like and unlike himself, an unearthly sound coming from his throat.

Something tries to strangle him, but while he feels the blood struggle to leave his head, breathing has never been his problem. Diego tries to stay calm, palms the limb that has him pinned by the neck, looks this strange, different Ben in the eye.

He doesn’t know what happens. Just as he feels like his eyes are about to pop, the pressure immediately relents and he hears,

“No, no, no, no, fuck, no-”

and Klaus - “Ben, Ben, it’s okay-”

And himself, trying to make noises but just sort of croaking, groaning. Great.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which everybody is definitely on board with the trying, now, and the plot happens entirely off screen and I have no idea how that's going to work for anybody who reads this ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

“No, it’s okay, stop,” Diego reaches out, voice annoyingly hoarse. He wonders vaguely how long he’s going to sound like fucking Allison.

“Ben’s freaking out,” Klaus informs him, helpfully.

“Ben,” Diego croaks, probably for the worse – their brother is crouched across the room, hands over his head, crying, by the looks of it, and mumbling things like, “no, no, no,” over and over.

“Ben, it’s okay,” Diego tries again, moving from the wall. His limbs comply this time, and he doesn’t look back despite feeling plaster powder dust down from him as he moves.

“Benny,” Klaus adds. “Diego’s fine, look at him. He’s a durable guy.”

“Shut up,” Diego snaps, desperately wanting to do this right and being more or less completely not sure about how.

Klaus stays quiet, watching them both from the middle of the room to see what to do next.

Diego brushes bits of wall from his shoulders, lets plaster fall out of Klaus’ stupid tank top.

“Ben,” he says, shuffling forward until he can crouch down to his brothers level. “Hey, hey.” He wants to do something with his hands but has no idea what, so settles for sitting down next to Ben, shoulders and knees knocked together deliberately.

After a minute Ben wipes his hands over his face and looks across to Diego. His face is a study in misery.

Diego blurts the first thing that comes to mind. “That was. Uh. Kind of awesome.”

Across the room, Klaus’ eyes bug out at him.

There’s a knock on the closed door, which Diego is fairly sure they had left open last night. A moment later, Mom’s voice calls. “Boys, I do hope everything is alright in there. I was finishing the ironing and heard something that sounded an awful lot like damaged plaster.”

“Mom,” Klaus hops up. He opens the door. “It’s okay,” he says, “we’re okay.”

Mom sticks her head in. She surveys the damage, tuts. “Oh, well. Would anybody like breakfast? I can fix this up in a jiffy when you’re all out for the day.”

“How angry are you with me?” Ben says, and he’s looking at Diego for some reason, and Diego looks back at his brother.

“Why would I be angry?” Diego asks, confused.

“What?” Ben sniffs. Better than Ben crying at least.

“I think they were trying to protect you,” Diego says, the idea suddenly coming to him. “You were asleep. And then I touched… um. Them? It?”

“You did what?” Ben stares at him.

“It had you all…” he settles on miming hugging himself.

Ben just looks at him.

“Diego, dear,” Mom says, “While I’m here, let’s just take our medicine. Don’t worry, you won’t feel a thing.”

“Sure, Mom,” Diego agrees readily, goes to stand but she comes to him first, reaches over.

Diego lets her fuss about him and give him what he assumes is a shot, but doesn’t want to confirm lest he pass out.

“Thanks,” he says, as she pats his arm.

“You’re welcome dear,” she says, and turns to Ben. Handing him a handkerchief, she says, “darling, you look very sad.”

Ben uses one hand to shove the fabric over most of his face. He takes his hand away. The handkerchief moves where he breathes.

“I think he’ll be fine,” Klaus says after a moment, when Ben says nothing. “Just a slightly jarring wake up. You know how Ben is. Throwing Diego into walls first thing in the morning doesn’t agree with him at all.”

There’s a choked off laughing sound from under the handkerchief. It’s not great, but it’s something.

“I don’t know, I was cool with it,” Diego says. “Maybe we should knock a few more walls down while we’re at it. And then get rid of that stupid wet bar upstairs. Dry Luther and Five out some.”

“Luther isn’t an alcoholic,” Klaus sighs, but he looks vaguely longing. “Also, of course you don’t care about being chucked around by an eldritch being.”

Diego considers. “Does it not have an actual name?” What even is it?

Ben suddenly pushes wraps both hands against his torso. “Don’t,” he bites out.

Diego frowns, torn between apologizing and pushing. He settles on, “you okay there, bro?” and moves a tentative hand to Ben’s shoulder.

“No,” Ben says, heavily.

“Just take a moment, dear,” Mom advises. “Breath deeply and evenly. In and out.”

Klaus shuffles around the room while Ben and Diego stay where they are. He changes his shirt for a jacket, pulls on a skirt; foregoes socks or shoes.

After another minute of deep breathing, Ben takes the handkerchief off his face. He looks a little worse for wear, but nowhere near as bad as he had. He gives Diego a sidelong glance. “You seriously thought that was awesome,” he says. Diego shrugs. Ben tells him, “You’re actually crazy.”

Diego shrugs again. “No, you,” he returns, feels himself grin a little smugly.

“Oh my God,” Ben says, claps a hand over his eyes. His lips twitch. “Are we so far gone that we’re joking about our mental health.”

“We’re all a little crazy,” Klaus chimes in, then. “Except Mom. She’s obviously perfect.”

“Oh Klaus,” says Mom. “You sweet boy.”

“Okay,” says Diego. “Breakfast.”

“Wait,” Ben sounds concerned. Diego looks at him, worried. “Nobody is trying to cook anything today, are they?”

“No, dear,” says Mom, and Ben sighs, looks relieved.

At Diego’s stare, he adds, “I just want a quiet one.”

 

They reach the kitchen. Mom starts putting things on the table in their places, shoos Diego back to his chair when he tries to help. When she brings over a jug of chilled pineapple juice, she gives Diego a little smile and puts it nearest to his place.

Diego loves his Mom.

They’re served mashed avocado and bacon on toast. It’s obviously perfect. They’re almost done when Five enters, a flash of blue on a direct route to the coffee pot.

He pours himself a cup, settles at the table. Declines a plate.

“Five,” Klaus greets. “How are we this morning?”

“Deeply disappointed in my former guardian’s predilection for funding the construction of nuclear weaponry,” Five says. “Also thinking about getting a television for the family room.”

“We _read_ in there,” Ben says, scandalized.

“Yes well,” Klaus says, loudly. “Nothing you need to be mumbling about, I’m sure.”

Five gives Klaus a look. “Can you be free in about 48 hours time? We can take care of some… left over family business.”

Diego sighs, hauls himself to his feet. “Yada yada,” he says, “Dad was evil,” he says, “yada yada.” He pushes his chair back. “Thanks, Mom,” he says. “You guys have fun being _right._ ” he tells Five as he hands Mom his empty plate and glass.

“Seriously,” Five stares at him. “I _need_ to know what Mom has dosed you with.” Klaus slaps him on the arm. Five’s face swings to stare at Klaus, incredulous and livid. Klaus pulls a face with raised eyebrows and a vaguely patronizing teaching expression, shaking his head.

Diego snorts, turns to leave.

“Wait up,” he hears Ben call, and he waits while Ben hurriedly exists his own chair, leaving his crockery, and comes after him. He feels something like deja-vu hearing Klaus’ hissed whispers behind him, decides he doesn’t care enough to listen. Forgets about it a second later.

“What are you doing today?” Ben asks him, tentatively.

“I, uh.” Diego stops, thinks. “Shit,” he says. “I missed a kids class last night. So I guess I’m going to talk to my… employer.”

“What kids class?” Ben asks, genuinely.

Diego finds himself explaining that he teaches hand to hand to the under tens at Al’s gym three nights a week, as he writes a note explaining that he’s headed to the gym, back in a few hours probably, don’t freak out anybody, and tapes it to the front door.

Ben steals the pen when he’s done, adds ‘BEN WENT WITH CYALATERXX’ at the bottom. Diego blinks.

“I wanna see your place,” Ben shrugs. “The gym is your place, right?”

“Yeah,” Diego says. “Sure. If you want to.”

He drives them across town to Al’s. When he enters, he braces himself for the riot act. Instead, he finds Al over at the mats, and Al immediately pulls him to one side, looks him up and down critically.

“What’s up, old man?” Diego asks, cautious.

“Just checking you over. That sister of yours said you were pretty sick, not teaching or training for a few days. Doctors orders, she said.”

Diego stares, a little stunned, and then wonders which sister.

“Just wanna check you don’t look like you’re thinking about doing anything to contravene a doctors orders,” Al tells him. Seemingly satisfied with his visual sweep, he pokes Diego hard in the chest. Diego rubs it absently, frowning, stares at Al some more. Al looks at Ben. “Let me guess,” he says, “another brother?” Ben half waves, half shrugs.

“I have four,” Diego defends, without thinking about it.

“Mmm,” grumbles Al. “Ya seem friendly,” he says then, completely unexpectedly. “All your lot. _My_ brother wouldn’t piss on me if I was on fire. Then again,” he adds, “I wouldn’t stick around to watch _him_ burn.” He pats Diego’s arm. “Get whatever you came for and I don’t want to see you up here until Monday,” he says. “By the way,” he adds. “Good fight. Always doing this place proud.”

“Thanks, Al,” Diego says, feeling like the wind has been taken out of him a little. He feels Ben touching his arm cautiously, watches as Al walks off. Ben’s fingers reach skin, and Diego is startled to remember that he’s still in Klaus’ stupid tie-dye tank top.

He makes his way to the back corridor, a couple of waves come his way from around the gym, to which he nods in return. He walks in front of Ben until he’s at the boiler room door, unlocks it.

It’s the same as it always is, Diego’s little piece of the world. He fumbles around, grabs a shirt and changes. Then he grabs a duffle bag and throws a few more shirts in, a few other things he could do with having on him if he… needed them.

“You’re ‘the Kraken’?” Ben is asking, and Diego turns and sees him running his fingers over a promo poster for what could have been any amateur match this year featuring his truly. “You use that name for boxing?”

“Yeah,” Diego says. “It just, uh. Slipped out one day. When Al asked.”

“That’s so cool,” Ben says, surprising him a little. Why he’s surprised he doesn’t really know. But he is. “Think I could get away with calling myself ‘the Horror’?”

“Oh, like _you’re_ the Horror, not the…?” Diego gestures around his own torso to mean tentacles. “Yeah. Sure. If you wanted to.” He realizes what he’s just said.

“I mean,” Ben says, “I can’t really remember how to fight so you’d have to give me some pointers.”

“It’s like riding a bike,” Diego tells him.

“I never learned to ride a bike, Diego,” Ben says seriously. “I’m pretty sure you taught _yourself_ to ride a bike.”

“Well, then,” Diego says, “It’s like. It _i_ _s_ like riding a bike,” he insists. “You can’t forget.”

“I wanna try something new,” Ben says, looking back at the poster.

“It works for me,” Diego tells him, which is completely and utterly true.

“I really like your hair,” Ben says, then, apropos of nothing. “And the beard thing. Maybe I should do a beard thing. I don’t even know what my hair would look like if I didn’t like… make it tidy.”

Diego walks over to him, puts out a hand. Reaches it into Ben’s perfect hair. Ruffles, hard, all over, until it’s sticking up in all directions. When he’s satisfied there’s no smoothing it back, he smirks, surveys his work.

“There. I’m the make over queen,” he tells Ben, immediately gratified to see his brother bark out a laugh. His hand flies out over his mouth as if he’s shocked that he made the noise, and then, after another minute of Diego also trying not to laugh, descends into helpless giggles. Diego starts to snort, and then Ben is properly laughing, wiping his eyes.

“Why,” Ben gasps, “Oh my god, why is that so funny,” he breathes, and then hiccups. “Nooo!” He says, “why do I-”- hic -“keep fuck-”- hic -“fucking hiccup-” he’s interrupted by another hiccup and Diego starts to laugh even harder.

By the time they’re done, Ben is wiping his eyes. Diego is so pleased to see it that his heart aches.

He gets them both a glass of water. It’s what stops Ben’s hiccups, finally.

Diego finishes packing the bag, tries not to think on it too much.

When he locks up, he tosses the keys in with his things.

“See you Monday, Al,” he calls, holding up a hand briefly. Ben holds up his own hand in goodbye, and they make their way back across the floor and out the door.

When they get back in the car, Diego takes a second. Ben says, “I’m serious, though,” and then, “you know what you should have? A massive Kraken on a shirt or something,” and then they’re stopping half way back to the academy where Ben picks up a pad to sketch in and some pens and pencils so that he can figure out how he wants to draw.

They drive back with Ben almost bouncing in his seat, and Diego is quietly thrilled.

 

Lunch and dinner pass uneventfully. Diego cruises the library for books that he won’t fall asleep reading, because he actually wants to read something, not just drop off and lose his page.

He tries a few, and then Vanya finds them, asks them if they want to sit outside.

Ben brings the sketchbook and the pens, leaving the pencils behind. Diego brings a paperback about a world in the future, with people with technology built into them. He reads while Vanya reads and Ben draws out by the flowers, and it’s actually the most at ease he’s felt in the house that he can remember.

“Hey, Di,” Ben asks, as he’s resting his eyes away from the page for a second.

“Hmm?” Diego responds, blinking, looking over. Ben stares at him for a second, and then traces another few lines on the page. Interest piqued, Diego leans over to see what he’s drawn.

“Oh wow, Ben,” it’s Vanya who says it first.

“Thats… really good,” Diego says.

In black ink, stark against the white paper, is what Diego recognizes as his own silhouette in a fighting stance. Drawn in lines around the block black is something that comes together as a piece of mythological carnage; a Kraken, but from the pirate stories Mom read them as kids – huge and menacing, monstrous, poised.

In the top right corner is a quick sketch of Diego’s face and shoulders while he’s reading, except Ben has played with the angle a little, so it couldn’t have been from sight alone.

Ben just looks at the page, expression somewhat critical.

“I like it more than with the pencils,” is all he says, and then seems to notice a large black smudge on his wrist where the pen has been idly sitting. “Oops.”

Diego looks at it for a long time.

“I didn’t know you drew,” Vanya says.

“I didn’t know I drew,” Ben says, shrugging.

“You’re kidding me,” Vanya says. “You just picked up a pen and did this.”

“Uh,” Ben says, and looks like he doesn’t quite understand why she’s asking.

“I-” Vanya sort of cuts herself off, swallows, hard. “It’s really good,” she says, again, after a moment. Ben peers over at her.

“You think?” He asks, smiling.

“Uh, yeah,” Diego confirms, still admiring.

 

They eat again, they go to Klaus’ room. Diego takes the book. Klaus resumes his knitting. Ben is attached to the sketchbook.

Klaus doesn’t mention it after his first noise and eyebrow waggle of approval, and Ben hasn’t volunteered anything. Then again, Ben seems fairly sucked in to what he’s doing.

“Remember,” says Klaus, after the sun has gone down and they have to put the electric lights on. “Therapy tomorrow. I’m driving you.”

“Have you actually practiced driving anything?” Diego can’t help but ask, judging whether or not this really seems like a good idea after all.  
  
“Sure,” says Klaus, easily. “I’ve been going out with Luther.”

“… oh,” is all Diego can think to say to that. And then, “that’s kind of nice of him.”

“He’s kind of nice,” Klaus agrees, “when he’s not being an ass.” He gives Diego a pointed look. “Reminds me of someone else I know.”

“Thought I wasn’t nice,” Diego grumbles.

“Oh,” says Klaus, “I wasn’t talking about you. Gosh. Wow. No. I meant Ben.”

They both look over, waiting for a response.

Ben’s head stays where it is, pen moving decisively. He doesn’t appear to have heard them. Klaus rolls his eyes. “Okay,” he says. “Never mind. My wit is wasted once again.”

Diego huffs. “Get a grip, Klaus,” he says.

“It’s funny because Klaus is the only one in here with a grip,” Ben adds, suddenly.

“I knew you were listening!” Klaus says. “J’accuse!”

“Drama-llama,” Ben says, absently, having not even looked up.

Diego stares between them for a second, then goes back to his book.

 

He wakes up on top of the covers, one of Klaus’ feet on his stomach, knitting and limbs everywhere. He managed, he rues, to fall asleep and lose his page.

 

Mom gives him medication. Klaus drives him to therapy. Sheila asks how his week has been.

He tells her, honestly, that he had a stupid day of being unable to do anything, and as a consequence his siblings are worried about him enough to leave him out of something that their Father had done and they now had to somehow put right. Diego just shrugs about it. They solved the ‘Leonard’ problem without him. They can solve whatever this is, too.

Sheila is un-surprised. She evidently has too much information on them already.

“Diego, I want you to know that this is a safe space,” she tells him, and he doesn’t roll his eyes.

“Yeah I know,” he agrees, genial as you please.

“Is there anything you would like to talk about?” She says, like she does at least once every time they meet. There is, in fact, not anything he would like to talk about, but he can never think of a way to put that politely.

“I could ask you a question, then,” says Sheila, and Diego gives her a thumbs up. “Would you tell me what happened the last time you experienced what you described to me happening over Tuesday and Wednesday this week?”

“Uh,” Diego thinks what to say. Apparently it’s been too long for a reasonable person to wait, because Sheila says,

“Did anything significant happen in your life at that time, that you can think of?”

“My brother died,” Diego says, like it’s obvious. Oh, maybe he hadn’t mentioned that.

“What was your brothers name?” Sheila asks him, after a minute.

“Ben,” says Diego. She doesn’t prompt him again. He thinks, and after a while, when he’s fed up of the silence, he says, “I was at the police academy. I didn’t really like it. It was stressful, in stupid ways. I kind of.” He thinks back. “I think it was a stupid idea,” he says, “but it’s easy to say that now. It was just the only thing I could think of to do.”

“To leave your Father,” Sheila says, like she already knows.

“Mmm,” Diego agrees. “So I was out on my own and stressed and young and alone – I had friends,” he adds, needing her to understand this, “I knew loads of people. I just. They didn’t know me.” When she nods, he continues, “and then my brother died, and it was… really bad.”

“Will you make sure,” Sheila says, then, “that when you leave today, you aren’t on your own?”

“My brother drove me here,” Diego dismisses. “I’ll go to the Academy with him when we’re done. I don’t really get a choice in the matter.”

“Why is that?” she asks.

“Um.” Diego tries to think. “I don’t know. They’re nosy dickheads?” He ducks his head.

“They,” says Sheila. “You mean your other siblings?” At his assent, she says, “you don’t seem particularly upset at this.”

Diego suddenly thinks about what he wants to say. He picks at his sleeve and then rolls it up, so that the trio of scars is visible. “When Ben died I think I shut down a little bit,” he says, and this doesn’t hurt anywhere near as much as he thought it would to say. “It was so awful, and I wasn’t really there because none of us spoke to each other, really, and then something awful happened and he died, and I hated my whole life, and then I ran out. Of energy. Like a battery. I just. I stopped in place. I couldn’t get up.” He pokes the scars. “I knew it wasn’t natural and I had a knife and I hurt myself until the adrenaline kicked in.” The memory is bizarrely, inappropriately, comforting. “And it bled so much and I was so angry, suddenly, and I quit the academy and I ended up,” he stifles a grin, “I ended up in this stupid little amateur boxing gym,” he says, “and this old man let me stay there if I cleaned up after hours and now.”

“Diego,” Sheila says. “This is good. I can’t help but notice that it is is an unusual amount for you to share.”

“My Mom gave me drugs,” Diego says. “She’s a… doctor. You must know that.”

Sheila looks at him, and he has no idea what her look means. Eventually, she says, “you’re leaving with your brother?”

“Klaus drove me,” Diego confirms.

“Excellent,” says Sheila, which he have would never imagined as a legitimate response to that statement, hey. “Do you have something to drink with you?”

And then she waits while he drinks some water – because once she offered tap water and he was too paranoid to accept it – and they do their usual end of therapy session grounding thing, and when he goes out to see Klaus, actually, yeah, maybe that was a strange amount for him to talk.

“Need anything?” Klaus asks him, and Diego just grabs his wrist. “Alright,” says Klaus, easy. “This I can do.”

Klaus drives them back to the Academy on a long and winding route that involves a smoothie shop and Diego getting handed a pineapple something or other. He’s actually a very sedate driver, Diego realizes, once he notices that they’re parking up at the Academy.

The hard part of his day is over.

“Don’t you crash on me,” Klaus tells him, “you have to say – I mean, you don’t have to tell me, obviously, just-”

“I’ll tell you,” Diego promises. He realizes why Klaus is saying it, then, but he doesn’t feel awful, just massively… spaced out. A little fragile. He doesn’t have any more words.

Klaus turns and holds the wrist nearest to him with both hands. “I’m here for you,” he says, serious, “if you need anything I can give.”

“You don’t have to give,” Diego hears himself say. “You don’t have to give me anything.”

“Di,” Klaus is saying, and then he’s sunk down again, but it was just for a minute, Diego thinks, looking at the color of the sky – still the same; looking at Klaus crouched by the passenger side of the car, just waiting for him.

“It’s just a headache,” Diego starts, reflexively.

“Shush,” Klaus waves him off, “come on. Don’t worry. There’s nothing you have to do. Just come inside.”

He follows Klaus inside, is given more water. Five catches them in the kitchen. Klaus snaps at him, maneuvers Diego down to the bedrooms, pushes him at his own. Ben waits at the door.

“Look after this guy,” Klaus tells Ben, “love you, see you tomorrow.”

“What are you-” Ben starts, but Klaus cuts him off.

“Love you, shush, have a sleepover. I’ll be back before you’re awake.”

“Okay.”

Diego walks in to the room with Ben. He’s never been around other people in this mood before. He’s never really wondered before what it looks like when his head gets this weird.

He ends up on Ben’s bed, Ben cross legged against the wall behind him, Diego curled around his shins.

 

Diego wakes up. It’s dark out. Ben is slumped sideways, a sheaf of paper torn where he obviously fell asleep. He looks for a clock but can’t see one.

Carefully, he extracts himself. His head is right again for sleep, and he wants a book or something to sit in his own bed with.

He makes it to the library, looks around. Walks back downstairs. Ends up in the family room, looks around. Spies a title on the shelves.

When he picks it up, the inside note reads, ‘I figured, why not?’ and he thinks, oh.

Why not.

Fine.

Diego takes the book back to the bedroom, prods Ben until he wakes up enough to fall sideways. Moves the paper and pen collection.

There are sheets and sheets of drawings, Diego can’t help but notice. He sees each of his siblings at least once; their massive namesakes behind them in one interpretation or another. He stacks the pages neatly on a the bedside table.

Finally satisfied, he takes his paperback; sits atop the covers.

This time, he doesn’t fall asleep.

 

Diego starts out of what he’s reading when he hears a massive thud against the ceiling above him.

Shit.

He sits up, waits to hear anything else. Nothing. And then there’s another, and a crash, like something’s fallen over. He glances at Ben’s bed, where Ben has startled awake, chest glowing like a warning.

“I’ll go first, stay behind me” Diego tells him, marking his page in the book before coming out into the corridor, moving as fast and as quietly as he can. He gets to the hallway to the sounds of movement up the stairs. He looks into the family room. The huge set of cupboards behind the wet bar is destroyed, along with half the bar itself. There’s glass and liquid everywhere. Diego looks up, pauses, notes the trail of blood going up the stairs.

“Jesus,” he breathes, and then steels himself, jogs forwards. Ben is behind him; Diego hears him swallow.

“Don’t be frightened,” Mom’s voice is saying, “these things are never as bad as they look.”

“Mom, what can I do?” and that’s Vanya, and Diego and Ben round the corner into the attic room which doubles as an infirmary whenever anyone needs it, and.

From left to right;

Five is pressing something to a shoulder, pale but otherwise upright. There’s blood on his hand. On the gurney, being seen to by Mom, is Klaus, not looking conscious, face red with blood, blood actually dripping on to the floor from somewhere near the top of him. Mom efficiently does – something – Diego doesn’t look too closely in case it’s a needle. She hands something to Vanya, next to her. Vanya begins to take off the sticky backs of some large pads.

“Just a precaution,” Mom says, sounding light as ever, “no harm in extra monitoring,” as she moves Klaus’ shirt so that Vanya can stick them around his chest. Allison is facing the corner, holding a hand out to Luther, who is backed up against the wall, hand over his face, breathing raggedly.

“He’s going to be fine, Luther,” Allison is saying, urgently. “It’s a head wound, Mom’s got him, he’s going to be fine.”

Five, eyes on their Number One, flashes to a cupboard and pulls out a – fucking syringe, Diego looks away again. As he approaches Luther, Allison snaps, hard, “that is _not_ going to help right now,” and Ben is moving forward towards Klaus looking stricken.

Diego feels like he’s suddenly coming online, after weeks – months, even, of not really being present at all. The world grows sharper, his thoughts clear.

“Mom,” he calls, “where can I be most useful?”

Vanya is holding something attached to the wires on Klaus. She looks at the screen intently.

“Would you check Five for me dear, see how the wound seems to you?”

“Five,” Diego snaps, and Allison looks at him pleadingly. “Get over here. Put that down,” he gestures to the packaged needle, ignoring anything else about it.

“He needs to-” Five begins, and Diego interrupts,

“Nope, you heard Mom, we’re looking at your shoulder,” and puts his body between Five and Luther. Allison nods at him gratefully, but he doesn’t watch them as he crowds Five to the next gurney back. “Come on,” he says, “how much blood have you lost? In pints.”

“Not that much,” Five tells him, and then looks upset as he lets Diego take the wad of whatever he’s been pushing on his shoulder with.

“Does it hurt less with pressure?” Diego asks, trying to be quick about slicing around the fabric of the jacket Five has on so that he doesn’t have to move the joint. Because knowing Five, it’s something horrific.

Five breathes out. “Yes, but it’s not that-” he sucks in a breath as Diego gets the shirt underneath out of the way and exposes what looks like a jagged stab wound to the open air.

“Come on,” Diego says, “if you lie down I can get a support under it. That needs stitches.”

“I can handle it,” Five snaps at him, “you don’t need to baby me.”

“I’m not babying you,” Diego says. “I know you can handle it. You just don’t have to do everything by yourself anymore.”

Five stares at him. Diego waits to see if it’s going to turn ugly. After a minute, Five slides slowly up onto the gurney, lays down without another word.

“Thank you,” Diego tells him, looking at his shoulder, setting a support.

Mom talks him through everything up to the stitches, at which point he swaps over with her for Klaus. Vanya is using a towel to wipe stray blood off of his neck. She lets it drop to the floor to cover the growing stain. Diego sees a neat line of stitches across a nasty looking head wound, and one of his ears has a large piece of gauze over it. Ben is standing over Klaus like a guardian, looks up at Diego.  
  
“I never left him alone like this before,” Ben says, “I can’t, now.”

Vanya says, “okay, tag, I’m on Luther duty,” and Diego sees Allison step back as Vanya takes her place trying to get Luther to calm down. He isn’t being loud, he isn’t breathing heavily, but his eyes are so wide, and Diego, now he looks, can see his pupils from even this distance aren’t right.

“Hey,” Vanya is saying, and Allison is backing up, backing up. She stops by Five, stands by his shoulder and watches. “We’re all here, it’s fine. Klaus is fine. Five is fine. I’m fine. Allison is fine.”

Luther looks at her. Diego can’t look away, suddenly. “Lu,” he says, holding Ben’s shoulder as if to be relieved, and stepping up next to Vanya. “Whatever’s happening, it’s not happening here. Sit your ass down on the floor.” He slips down in front of Luther, is thankful to watch him do the same. Vanya stays standing, puts her hand on his shoulder. Diego leans forward to catch Luther’s massive wrist, moves his first two fingers around to feel his pulse. It’s racing, like Diego thought it might be, so he holds it, sets his other hand over his brothers forearm.

“Close your eyes,” Diego says. “We’re here, nothing bad is going to happen. Just let your eyes close. Vanya’s getting some water, please Van thanks,” he smiles up at her hopefully. She’s gone before he finishes. “Breathe out through your nose,” he says. Luther does. “Just breathe for a little bit. Think about eggs and bacon.”

“I can’t,” Luther suddenly blurts, “It’s all my fault.”

“No,” Vanya says, suddenly next to him, hand on his shoulder. She puts a glass down by his side when he refuses to take it. “Luther you saved my life.”

“Klaus nearly died,” Luther says.

“But he didn’t,” Allison says, appearing. “He’s going to be fine. He’s right there, with Ben.”

“Are you hurt, at all?” Diego asks him, suddenly. Luther’s pulse picks up.

“No,” his brother suspiciously lies, “don’t,” he opens his eyes. “Why are you all looking at me, help Klaus, help Five.”

“I’m fine,” Five says, hopping off the table, arm now in a sling. “Luther. You made a hard call. You won it. You did good, kid,” he says, nodding.

“Come on,” Vanya says, “let Mom check you over, at least.”

“Later,” Luther says, slightly desperately.

“Alright,” Diego says, thinking. “I’m guessing you guys just went to sort out Dad’s left over shit, and it didn’t all go to plan but you got it done?”

“Affirmative,” Five tells him.

“Nothing left to take care of?” He asks.

“It’s done,” Allison says, with a look at her injured siblings. “Diego, don’t worry about it, you need to put it on yourself-”

“Nothing’s going to go crazy if you go and get some rest?” Diego interrupts, eyebrows raised, and she stops.

“Right,” Vanya says. “I… could use a shower.”

And Diego has no idea what any of them did while he was asleep, but sending them to bed, seeing them all in one piece, being the one with the capacity to pick up the pieces, is more satisfying than he would have imagined.

“Ben,” he says, but Ben shakes his head. “Okay,” Diego says, comes back to Luther. “Get back up, big guy.”

Luther has a hunted look on his face.

“Come on. Mom needs to check you out. I made everybody else shove off, now I’m going to make sure you follow through.”

Slowly, jerkily, Luther comes to his feet, shuffles to a gurney. With Luther’s back turned, Diego can see a bunch of tears in the fabric; jagged, like something serrated has stabbed at him repeatedly.  
  
“Jesus, Luther,” Diego says. “What are you hiding under there?” Luther stiffens at the comment, but Diego says, “if you’ve been stabbed and were going to ‘wait until later’ for Mom to check you out…” in a warning tone, and Luther actually begins to take off the overcoat that he insists on hiding behind. Diego doesn’t comment, just folds his arms and waits. When he gets to the shirt underneath, Luther swallows. Diego knew he had these stupid issues, knows he has to stay for this, at least try to help.

“Mom,” he says, “how can I be useful?”

Mom tells him what to fetch, clearly anticipating multiple injuries. By the time he’s done collecting things from cupboards, Luther is seated on a gurney, shirt off, looking intently at a spot on the floor a few feet ahead.

Diego never considered what the texture of the skin would look like. He doesn’t care, particularly, it’s just. It’s so much mass. Luther must feel…

Well.

He hands things to Mom as she asks for them. The damage is mostly subcutaneous; Luther should heal quick. He doesn’t need stitches, just tape and gauze.

After a minute, Luther just says, “well?”

“I don’t need to know,” Diego comes back with. “Unless it’s useful information for me, I don’t need to know how you all ended up banged up. If you want to talk about it that’s fine,” he clarifies, “but if you’re putting me on a fucking ‘mental health break’ and I can’t help you out, I don’t need to know.”

“What? No,” Luther sounds frustrated. “I meant. Aren’t you going to… you know.” He gestures at himself. Miserably.

Diego rolls his eyes. “No, Mom’s the expert, she’s fixing you up. I’m just. Moral support,” he suggests, pointedly.

“Moral support,” Luther repeats.

“Yeah,” Diego says. “You need anything?”

Luther takes a deep breath. Seems to make up his mind about something.

“I thought she was going to have give Klaus the – the serum,” he gestures over his body. “I thought he was gonna die. So.” He stops.

“Ben?” Comes a bleary voice from across the room. “Buddy, am I awake? You missed a doozie.”

“Hey,” Ben is saying. “Hello.”

“Hellooooo,” Klaus says, raises up a palm.

“Well, there you go. He looks alive,” Diego tells Luther. “You’re being. Something. I don’t know. You should do therapy about it.”

“I should do therapy about it,” Luther repeats, blinks. “Are you sure you’re feeling okay?”

“I’m fine,” Diego tells him.

“There you go, darling,” Mom is saying, patting down a gauze on a shoulder. “I’d like to apply a little more in four to six hours, if you would be so good as to allow it. Just to keep the pain and swelling down.”

“Mom,” Luther says, “thanks.”

“On the level,” says Diego, ignores Klaus’ subsequent, concussed sounding, “Oooooooh, street slang!”, takes Luther’s chin in hand. “Stop with the ‘hiding the insecurity’ routine. You’re terrible at it; we all know you feel like crap and can probably help more if you would just talk.”

“Diego,” Luther says, looking stricken. “No, I never meant to-”

“Ah ah ah!” Diego says. “Klaus says I’m not nice. You’re all injured. I’m the ‘not nice’ boss right now. Don’t fuck around when I tell you to do something.”

He thinks he imagines Ben actually snickering from over by Klaus. “Oh my God,” Ben is saying, and he hears Klaus say, “shush, shush, I want to hear everything.”

“Thanks for being the boss,” Luther says, bizarrely.

“Are you tired?” Diego asks, emboldened. “Do you need to sleep?”

“No, no,” Luther says. “I’m serious. I know you kind of hate me.”

“What the fuck, Luther,” Diego rolls his eyes again. “I spent ‘most of my adolescence trying to be you’, if you recall.”

Two pairs of lungs suck in a breath across the room. Luther doesn’t react for a moment, and then his eyes bug out.

“Oh my God,” he says. “Did you… You _read the book_.”

 

Actually, he’s only half way through it. Turns out Diego reads a lot faster when he’s mildly invested. And it sucks but it’s an insight, and he wants to know if Vanya ever got over not having a tattoo, because between that book and Ben’s newfound hobby he’s getting _ideas_.

 

Luther refuses to leave the infirmary, but not because he’s waiting four hours for Mom; because he refuses to leave Klaus on his own.

He says, “I woke up alone. And I was too chicken shit to come and see you in rehab and I regret that so much. And then I was on the moon and our whole childhood I knew someone else would be there instead of me. So I’m staying here and you can go to sleep if you want, and you won’t have to wake up alone.”

Klaus looks bemused, serious, and then sort of sad, but he says, “okay, big guy, I like the company, beats all the dead people,” and then says, “Ben, don’t-” but Ben is just sort of smiling a bit instead of freaking out, so it’s all okay.

 

By the time Klaus is okay enough to sleep back downstairs, because apparently that gauze was covering Mom sewing back on what was left of his ear _wow Diego doesn’t_ _need_ _to know_ … and they have all dealt with their respective freak outs about various things, Diego moves two of the beds in the what he’s jokingly calling The Even Numbers Bedroom together to make a large open space for Klaus to fall asleep knitting on.

He doesn’t mind sharing. They’re messed up. They never got to have a real childhood. Diego can cut himself a break for taking a little bit of time to have a part of one now.

So when Five’s head pokes around the door a few days later, asking,

“Why are you two still in bed?” Seeming genuinely confused, which is fair, it’s two in the afternoon (Diego taught a kids class last night, and then went out and beat up a would-be mugger, and Klaus was still awake when he got in), it’s Klaus who answers, sounding sleepy despite being awake enough to chat. “Comfort, man. We’re trying out the regular kid stuff. But in our thirties, so it’s creepy.”

“Fucksakes,” Diego grumbles into the pillow, wondering if he can be bothered to punch him.

Footsteps indicate Five coming in.

“What do you mean? Like, sleepovers?”

“Yeah, but without the cameras and the weird shit Dad used to-” Diego twitches involuntarily, at Klaus’ words, and he knows Klaus notices because he changes tack mid sentence, “-I mean, you know. Why not? Also it’s nice.”

There’s no sound for a while, but when Diego looks again, Five looks vaguely upset. He backs out of the room, and Diego kind of just wants to call him back.

 

“I just can’t,” Five says, when Diego asks him about it later. They ask each other about their feelings a lot, now. Sometimes, Diego thinks it’s probably bordering on weird.

He’d rather have it weird.

“Can’t what?” Diego asks.

“I’ve never slept next to another human being in my entire life,” Five says. “Lives.”

“There’s space with the Even Numbers,” Diego offers, thinking Five would rather stick his head in the toilet.

“Thanks,” Five says, smiling wryly. “But I think I’m past that point.”

Diego shrugs. “You know where we sleep,” he says, for if Five ever changes his mind.

 

Luther actively seeks him out, on occasion. He asks if he can talk about a particular subject. After some prodding, Diego finds out that it’s homework from his therapist. The thought of getting homework from Sheila makes his head spin. He barely manages to do the fucking sessions.

“I’ve made mistakes,” Luther is saying. “I’ve made a lot of mistakes. And I know it’s not an excuse, but I honestly did what I thought was best.”

“There you go, bro,” Diego offers, because, obviously. “You did what you thought was best. What else are you supposed to do?” He’s feeling unusually at ease with the talking. “If you really, honest to God did what you thought was the right thing and it didn’t work out, you still tried. That still means something.”

“Not sure everyone sees it that way,” Luther counters, and his hands come up to cover his face.

“Fuck ‘em,” Diego tells him. “You have us.” Luther sighs. “You’re my brother, man. I’ll fight them for you.”

He isn’t expecting the hitch in Luther’s breathing, the way his shoulders hunch up a little more, the sudden hiss through his nose. Hands resolutely still covering his entire face. Diego reaches out, puts a hand on one massive shoulder. When he can’t get a decent grip, he moves it up to the more regular sized neck, keeping it low enough to not suffocate, big enough to hopefully convey a message.

If anything, Luther shakes harder.

“I’ll have to fight them for you if you’re going to sit here crying like a big baby,” Diego continues, flippant tone hiding his panic and horror at seeing Number One appear to get upset over something Number Two has said.

And then they just sit for a while, with no words and Diego’s hand on Luther’s neck. When Luther eventually sits up, scrubs at his face, his eyes are red and he looks raw. Diego moves the hand to his arm, holds him by the forearm.

“I tried so hard,” Luther says, sounding honest and drained and tired. “It was never good enough. I’ve never been good _enough_.”

Diego yanks at his cuff in response, pulling the tight sleeve up just a smidgen.

His skin looks swollen and large, hair everywhere. But a faded tattoo sits nestled just where Diego has one to match. Diego pokes it. Luther doesn’t respond.

“So… I’ve been thinking about something,” Diego says.

 

“I can’t believe you read my book,” Vanya says, looking shell shocked. “You read that.”

Diego flaps a hand at her. “It was here, I was bored,” he says.

“Oh God,” Vanya says, then, hands coming up to her head.

“No, stop it,” Diego tries, “Look it was. It was so long ago. Really. We’re our own people, now. Not what Dad ruined.”

“You’re not _ruined_ ,” Vanya tells him, stricken, and Diego thinks fast.

“I wanted to do something for us,” he says, “to, I don’t know. Mark us. Being us. The real Umbrella Academy. You guys stopped nuclear war, for fuckssakes. You’re heroes.”

“You fix shit in this city every damn day,” Vanya says, throwing her hands up. “Don’t say ‘you’re’.”

“No, fuck, okay.” Diego takes a breath. “Look. It hurt you so much. A stupid piece of ink we didn’t even ask for.”

“I-” he waits her out, but she stops.

“Maybe I asked Ben to draw some new ones,” Diego says.

“Di.”

“Maybe it could. I don’t know. It’s not the start of something. But we worked hard and despite that old dead fucker’s best efforts we’re good, we work, we’re brothers and sisters and we fucking save the world from time to time. Doesn’t that deserve a memento?”

Vanya starts to crack, he can see it.

“Doesn’t that deserve some recognition, Van?” He says, and she turns away, turns back.

“No,” she says, “fine,” she says, “oh God, you have no idea what that would mean to me,” and he hugs her, he hugs his tiny little sister, kisses the top of her head.

 

“I want them to be a surprise,” Ben says.

 

Diego looks around the little circle they’ve made on the floor in the attic, piled on top of blankets, legs crisscross, like a bunch of kids hiding away to do something fun. Ben deposits a bunch of envelopes in the center, looking a little anxious but determined. He keeps one for himself.

“Just,” he says, “they’ve got your names on.”

“Hey,” says Klaus, “you wanna open them in alphabetical order? Make a change from the old One through Seven?”

“I like that,” Allison says, because now she’s top of the list. “Gimme.”

Allison opens the A4 sized envelope with her name written in Ben’s fancy cursive. She pulls out an unfolded sheet, black and white. She just looks at it for a moment.

“Holy shit Ben,” she says. She holds it atop her arm, just looks. “This looks freaking bad ass,” Allison adds. She flips it up so they can all see.

Where the umbrella would currently sit, one of a small army of spiders is poised. There are blocks that look like they might be words, but aren’t really letters at all. Where the center of her forearm would be is a crown, delicate and ornate. “I love it,” she says.

“It’s not too big or anything?” Ben fusses.

“No. I can’t wait to get this,” Allison tells him, traces her existing umbrella with a finger. “Thank you so much.” Ben smiles, ducks his head a bit. “Now show us yours!” Allison demands.

“Oh,” says Ben, pulling his drawing out. “Mine was easy.” He holds up his paper. It takes him a minute, but Diego sees, in the same blocky style as Allison's, a combination of icon like images surrounded by an everlasting snake in an infinity loop. A crown, an eye, a shield, a bird, a kraken, and a violin. He can pick them all out. It’s not hard to see what Ben was doing. “It’ll make more sense when you see all of yours,” Ben says anyway. He puts it in front of him. “Dieeeeeego. You can go next.”

Diego counters his stupid nerves by tearing into the envelope with gusto, then carefully pulling out a sheet. It’s the same style again, a long shape the length of his forearm; a Kraken descending over a constellation. The stars will cover the umbrella. He starts, suddenly, when he realizes where the rest will go; the Kraken has long limbs that begin exactly in line with the twists of the scars at his elbow. The detail will make it unclear to the casual observer, but it’s so deadly perfect that Diego needs to take a moment.

When he looks up, Ben has his chin on his hand. “Your face says it’s fine,” Ben tells him.

Fine is not the word. Diego swallows. “It’s perfect,” he settles on. Ben sends him finger guns.

“My turn,” Five declares, and pulls out his picture. He turns his head, and then looks at Ben. “Love it,” he says, with a smile. Ben grins. “It’s very.” He looks back. “I mean. It’s completely correct as well.”  
  
“I figured. I stole that part from your notepad,” Ben says, not sounding at all sorry.

“I recognize my own work,” Five tells him, smug, and Diego looks at the page, the big black bird with five points around it, one of which will cover the umbrella, then something delicate and full of the kind of thing he associates with long days of being made to understand how his throws work; physics, physics, physics. But everything about it screams ‘Five’.

“Thank you,” Five tells him. Ben waggles his eyebrows in response.

Klaus is next. When he gets to his page, he makes a delighted face and then topples sideways to plant a huge wet kiss on the side of Ben’s face.

“I see all,” he says, in a faux mystic voice, holds the paper in front of his face so everybody else can see, too.

It’s a beautifully realistic rendering of an eye. In the corner, a tear is falling, except it turns into a landscape below the rim; featuring a tree with long, twisted roots that gives the impression of floating in space. It’s as beautiful and chaotic as Klaus himself. Diego thinks that it will look perfectly at home on him.

“That’s gorgeous,” Allison says, “Ben. These are all gorgeous. You’re so talented.”

“Shucks, sis,” Ben says. “Two to go for you to change your mind.”

“Oh,” Luther says, after Diego prods him. He opens his envelope with care, looks at the contents.

Diego peers over. Luther’s tattoo is a stone carving of a shield, surrounded by a halo, cleverly rendered in the black and white. Small flowers peek around the edges of the monolith, creating a beautiful contrast. Underneath the shield, about where Diego guesses the umbrella would go, a coin looks like it’s mid spin, its shadow drawn underneath.

“Wow,” Luther breathes. He looks like he adores it on sight. “Wow,” he says again.

They all ruminate for a moment, and then Luther clears his throat. “Still last, never least,” he says, and gestures at their sister Vanya, who is sitting cross legged, staring at the envelope in front on her.

“She’s the least tall,” Ben says, as if to lighten the atmosphere a little, and Vanya cracks a smirk, so it works. She touches her name on the front of the envelope, picks it up and pulls out the paper inside.

It should have been predictable, it really should have, but Diego still cranes his neck to see the drawing. Vanya’s hand goes up to her mouth and she breathes for a moment.

It’s a violin, of course it is – but it’s also Vanya herself, rendered beautifully in the same style as the rest of them, black and white and serene and gorgeous. Ben has somehow drawn Vanya as a violin and made it look incredible.

Underneath the figure, a twirled, cursive ‘V’ gives the end a beautiful finish. The impression of moving air, motion on the arm is perfect.

Vanya sniffs, then, covers her eyes. “Sorry,” she says, half hiccuping. “Ben. This is amazing. I’m so sorry. I’m just.”

Diego huffs and breaks the circle, comes to sit next to her. She looks at him, and then covers her eyes again, and falls sideways when he gets his arms around her torso.

“You have the best ideas, Van,” Diego says.

“It wasn’t me, you ass,” she says, as Allison gets up to sit on her other side, puts a hand on her arm. Diego sees more than feels as she pokes him in the chest. “Take some damn credit.”

“No,” Diego says, “that way none of you can laugh at me for doing it to myself when I pass out getting this thing.”

“We’ll all go together,” Klaus says, looking happily at the scene. “I’ll hold your big manly hand.”

“Me too,” says Ben.

“Me three,” says Vanya.

“Okay, but I only have two hands, and-”

“Me four,” says Luther, with a smirk.

“I’m actually Five,” says Five, “don’t think your awful attempt at wit went unnoticed; I’m just saying.”

Diego raises his eyebrows at him.

“And yes, okay, fine,” says Five. “I, too, will hold your hand.”

“I’m not saying it now,” giggles Allison. “It’ll be fun. I’ll bring you smoothies.”

“This is about Vanya,” Diego complains.

“He’s just embarrassed,” Vanya tells them all. “He’s all tense.” She doesn’t seem to care about that enough to move.

“Asshole,” he tells her, fondly.

“That’s us,” Vanya says, sits up and flicks him in the ear.

 

 

He passes out.

Nobody makes fun.

Diego marvels at what his life has become.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I did it, I wrote a thing... I don't understand how I started writing and ended up with this much stuff but cool I guess. If anybody got this far I appreciate you very much, thanks for witnessing my first foray into writing shit <3<3<3<3<3<3<3
> 
> *dies of posting anxiety*
> 
> *cracks up at self dying*
> 
> so meta, omg.


End file.
